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In a Monk s Cassock 



1 







IN A MONK’S 
CASSOCK 


BY 

Pearl Van Antwerp Moran 


m 


CHICAGO 

W. B. CONKEY COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright, 1910, 

BY 

PEARL VAN ANTWERP MORAN 


©CI,A275368 


AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 
TO THE MEMORY OF 
BEATRICE W. FOGWELL 




CONTENTS 


Chapter Page 

I Swollen Streams 11 

II Morning Mists 31 

III A Man of Honor 40 

IV A Binding Knot 53 

V A Mountain Climb 64 

VI Farewell to the Brotherhood 77 

VII Homeward Bound 87 

VIII A Night at the Opera 94 

IX In the Studio 100 

X Varied Emotions .Ill 

XI The Flight 125 

XII A Hasty Decision 134 

XIII To Sunny Italy 140 

XIV Old Rose Lace 149 





CHAPTER I 
Swollen Streams 

TP HE late March winds were suggestive of a 
speedy awakening of nature after the long 
restful sleep of winter. Spring had started out 
early on her march north, and danced with sheer 
joy among the beautiful Alleghenies, laying her 
warm touch here and there on the mountain-side, 
melting the deep snows, and bringing into bloom 
the pink and purple blossoms of the mountain 
laurel. 

Shortly a veil was drawn across the way, shut- 
ting out the warm sunshine. A mist rose in the 
valleys and crept up the mountains, then the rain 
fell incessantly for days. The rivers rushed on 
madly continuing to rise higher and higher. 

Along the S river, and skirting a moun- 
tain, the L passenger train, eastward bound, 

crawled, as with great caution. The river had 
risen on a level with the railroad tracks and in 
places, was washing ruthlessly over the ties. Sud- 
denly the train started up with full speed and 
dashed along the swamped rails for the space of 
a quarter of a mile, then slowed down again as 
though picking its way along. 

11 


12 


In a Monk's Cassock 


Earlier in the afternoon, when the train stop- 
ped at H , two men boarded the parlor car. 

Howard Kornell, tall, broad-shouldered, and 
possessing an exceedingly attractive face, pre- 
ceded the man of smaller build, but of equally 
good appearance. Kornell gave one quick glance 
the full length of the car then brought his gaze 
back to a young lady who occupied the second 
chair to the right. For an instant only their 
eyes met, then the lady turned and looked out of 
the window, seemingly greatly interested in the 
scene without. Kornell and his private secretary, 
Felix Ransome, took possession of the two chairs 
across the aisle, the only seats which remained 
vacant. They made themselves comfortable, 
after which Mr. Kornell began giving notes to his 
secretary. He quite often let his dark gray eyes 
turn in the direction of the young lady opposite 
—a pleasing picture to look upon — ^it rested him. 
He did not get a full view of her face after that 
first glance when he entered the car, but he stud- 
ied the heavy waves of light brown hair, her al- 
most perfect profile, the curve of her white 
throat showing above the faultless collar, and the 
fully developed figure, which bespoke health and 
youth. 

Thus the last afternoon of March drew near a 
close. The passengers were weary and over- 
wrought with the excitement of the last few 


Swollen Steeams 


13 


hours, and now with the darkness near at hand, 
what was in store for them? 

The train rounded a sharp curve, then came 
to a sudden stop, which sent the passengers into 
a panic. The men immediately left the train and 
ran forward to ascertain the cause of the sudden 
stop at this out-of-way place. A few of the 
women became hysterical, others ran back and 
forth aimlessly through the cars. The young 
lady who had so attracted Howard Kornell re- 
mained calm and collected after the first shock 
of the sudden jolt. In a very few minutes Kor- 
nell came hurrying back, and removing his hat 
addressed her: 

‘T beg your pardon, but all conventionahty 
must be thrown aside, for we all are in very grave 
danger. Will you allow me to assist you? I see 
that you are alone.” 

‘'You are kind,” she answered, “ and I thank 
you, but I am well able to care for myself. There 
are a great many women on the train who need 
your aid muc^ more than I. There is that old 
lady, crying, in the far end of the car, or the 
woman with that wee babe who sits near her.” 

“Very well,” he answered pleasantly, and 
stepped to his own chair. 

A commotion occurred at the car entrance; 
then the conductor entered, mounted a chair, and 
called out: 


14 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


“All must remain calm and do our bidding. 
We are in a very great danger. The river has 
risen until it is about ready to wash away the 
bridge. The first section has sprung, and the 
car rails are wrenched apart. It is impossible 
for the train to pass over, and it is equally im- 
possible for us to remain here, or go back, as that 
last dash along those swamped rails sent them 
afioat. The river is rising rapidly, and unless 
we leave the train and cross the bridge afoot, 
we will die here like rats in a trap. There is a 
station but a mile further on, after we cross over. 
Now, ready! and hurry! No unnecessary lug- 
gage. Not a moment to lose.” He stepped to 
the fioor and hurriedly left the car. Instantly a 
shrill cry rose from the very fat woman holding 
the wee babe. 

“Oh! we shall die! Die like rats in a trap! 
Do you hear, baby? We are going to die ‘way 
off here all alone. Oh! my God!” 

Kornell stepped to his fair fellow-passenger 
and said: 

“I believe you could quiet her. Won’t you 
try ? She will craze the whole trainload. Mercy ! 
such howling. I’ll see what I can do to help get 
the women and children across.” He left her 
and aided a woman and two children to cross the 
bridge and hurried back to assist others. 


Swollen Streams 


15 


The young lady approached the screaming 
woman, and tried to quiet her. 

“Don’t you know this won’t do?” she asked. 
“You are the only woman on the whole train that 
is making such a fuss. You must become quiet 
and leave this car. You can not stay here alone. 
Think of your baby; you must save him. See, 
the car is empty, every one is fleeing for safety.” 

“Go and leave me,” cried the woman. “Save 
yourself ; I don’t dare cross that rackety bridge.” 

“But you will surely die if you stay here.” 

“What is the difference? I’ll die if I step foot 
on that bridge.” 

“Come, let us leave the car; you may feel dif- 
ferently after you see others crossing safely.” 

The woman allowed the girl to persuade her to 
leave the car, but she resolutely refused to go 
near the bridge, and sat down on the car step. 
The men hurried back and forth, with their bur- 
dens. But a few remained to be piloted across. 
The young lady was becoming impatient with the 
willful stubbornness of the woman to flee 
to safety. She watched the last of the party em- 
bark on the trembling bridge. She counted the 
minutes which seemed like hours until she saw 
Kornell, his secretary and one of the porters com- 
ing toward her. 

Kornell was the first to speak: 


16 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


“Come,” he said. “Make haste! That bridge 
won’t hold on much longer and we will be cut 
off from the rest of the party. It’s getting dark, 
too, and those clouds are going to open up on us 
like suds in a very short time.” He looked at the 
young lady, for the fleshy woman refused to 
speak or move. “It’s of no use, I can not get her 
to go,” she told him. 

“Then let her stay here. Why need you lose 
your life if she holds hers at so little value?” 

“But I cannot go and leave her and that little 
babe here to perish. It would be murder. If she 
stays I must stay.” 

A great light of admiration shone in his eyes 
as he looked at her. 

“Can’t you bring your Yankee intuition into 
play, and help us out of this? For unless you go, 
I shall stay, too. I tell you frankly that I do 
not relish the idea of death in this lonely place.” 

She looked off toward the rushing, foaming 
river, then turned about with a purpose and 
leaned over the moaning woman, speaking 
kindly : 

“Let me take the child just a moment, won’t 
you? You have held him so long, your arm must 
ache.” 

Unwittingly the mother gave her child into 
the arms of the young lady who stepped back, 
hugged it to her for a moment, then quickly 


Swollen Streams 17 

placed it in the arms of the strong porter, and 
gave him a push toward the bridge, saying: 

“Hurry! run with all your might! It is our 
only way out.” 

The mother, wild with fury, glared savagely 
at the beautiful face of the girl who had trapped 
her, then gave a lunge forward. The secretary 
caught her and led her toward the bridge. Kor- 
nell turned to the lady left alone with him. 

“Cleverly done,” he said. “Now we must hur- 
ry. Do you know, that bridge has-sprung a foot 
farther in the last ten minutes.” He grasped 
her arm and hurried her forward. Her skirt 
caught on the lower step of the car as she turned 
to leave, and tore the front panel to the hem. 
They paused long enough to tear the strip of 
cloth free from the skirt, then hastened on. 

“The rain will be here with greater force di- 
rectly; the drops are getting larger, and strike 
heavier.” They could hear the bridge timbers 
cracking, and hurried forward and stepped onto 
the trembling structure. “I hope we — can make 
it,” concluded Kornell, with a white, set face. 

Step by step they picked their way along. 
Then a sickening fear took possession of the 
strong, broad-shouldered man, for slowly but 
surely that section of the bridge was giving away. 
Steadily and firmly he pulled his companion 
along. It seemed as though they were going at 


18 


In a Monk's Cassock 


a snail’s pace, and every second counted. He 
could not have spoken to have saved his life. 
They came to the end of the swaying structure 
and he was about to help the trembling girl onto 
the solid portion of the bridge when amid a deaf- 
ening crash of timbers and roaring of waters 
they found themselves rocking and tumbling 
down the mad river, clinging to the ties of the 
floating railroad bridge. After the structure set- 
tled into easier sailing they endeavored to stand 
erect, clinging to heavy timbers that formed the 
side guards of the bridge. It was now quite dark 
and the rain came down in torrents. 

“Great Caesar,” exclaimed Kornell, above the 
roar of the waters. “It rains as though it never 
had rained before. Strange what odd freaks 
fate plays with.” For her sake he was trying to 
be cheerful. 

“Where do you think we are going?” she 
asked. 

“Time will tell.” 

“It is getting so dark, too. What would I do 
were I alone. But you are here, there is com- 
fort in that.” 

“I am very happy if I prove any sort of a 
comfort to you. Here, let me tie that handbag 
to your arm, then you can hold onto me with 
both hands, which will be easier for you than try- 
ing to hang onto this large beam.” He took out 


Swollen Streams 


19 


his pocket-handkerchief and passed it through the 
handle of the bag, then tied it about her wrist. 

“Thank you,” she breathed. 

He grasped her cold hands and held them 
firmly within his own. For a long while they re- 
mained silent. Then she asked : 

“Don’t you think we will reach one shore or 
another before long? This river is not very 
wide.” 

“No, not very wide, but mighty long and I 
surmise we are going the full length. If by 
chance we can reach the opposite shore, we can 
tramp it back to the station — the rest started for 
— but if we land back on the same side we left we 
are lost for a while at least.” 

“It is dreadfully dark.” 

“Yes, densely black,” he answered. Again 
silence fell between them. It seemed ages since 
they had spoken to each other, when suddenly 
their raft struck the rocky shore, tilted on end, 
sending them into the icy water. Kornell grasped 
his companion, passed his arm about her and 
swam to the shore. She struggled to her feet and 
dashed the water from her face. Her heavy hair 
fell about her shoulders, she twisted the water 
from it, then with Mr. KorneU’s help, wrung her 
dripping skirts. At her request he loosened the 
handkerchief tied about her wrist. 


20 In a Monk's Cassock 

“We landed on the wrong shore, didn’t we?” 
she asked. 

“Decidedly so.” 

“What shall we do?” 

“I shall have to find a way out. But we may 
have to stay here until morning. It would be 
foolhardy to tramp aimlessly over mountains on 
a dark rainy night. Let us look about.” They 
looked off toward the south, nothing but a wall 
of darkness met their eager gaze. “It is terrible 
to have you standing here in this cold, wet 
through and through. I fear for the safety of 
your health.” He turned toward the north, after 
a second he exclaimed eagerly : 

“Look up the side of the mountain, there. Do 
you see that light? It is either a very large one or 
it is much nearer than I think for.” 

“Oh! how fortunate we are. Let us hurry. 
We can surely find shelter there.” 

“No, we won’t go just yet. Listen a moment. 
We can’t tell what sort of a place that light 
shines from; it may be the abode of rough people. 
You have been wonderfully brave so far, and 
haven’t caused me a particle of trouble; now, 
can you be brave a little longer, and stay here 
alone in the dark while I go up the mountain 
and investigate that place? I cannot take you 
there until I know whether or not it is safe to 
do so. I promise you I shall hurry.” 


Swollen Streams 


21 


“I will stay here if you wish me to. You know 
best, of course.” 

“Before I leave you give me the assurance 
that you have placed your trust in me. Of course, 
I fully realize that we are strangers to each other, 
but this is the time and place for perfect confi- 
dence. Hasn’t the great danger we have just 
passed through together taught you that you 
may safely trust me? There are times when two 
moments on the brink of eternity will bring peo- 
ple to a clearer understanding of each other than 
a lifelong friendship could ever do.” His voice, 
full and deep, sounded so reassuringly good to 
her that she reached out her hands to him say- 
ing: 

“I do trust you. I trust fully.” 

“Now you have made me feel better about 
leaving you here alone. When I return. I’ll give 
this whistle.” He gave a peculiar little call, low 
and soft. “Only much louder,” he added. “Be 
sure you answer no other sound but that.” Then 
he disappeared from her side. 

But a few seconds and the sound of his foot- 
steps died away; all she could hear was the mad 
onrush of the river and the falling rain. It took 
strong nerves, a will power almost superhuman 
to stand there in that wet, desolate place and 
wait. She became chilled to the marrow, but did 
not dare to move about, lest Kornell should have 


22 


In a Monro's Cassock 


difficulty in finding her. She prayed for strength 
and endurance. It might be an hour or more 
before Kornell returned. 

Much sooner than she anticipated, that odd 
whistle came down to her from the mountain- 
side. 

‘‘Who-o-o-oo.” Strong and clear she sent the 
answer, for she knew that he was having some 
difficulty in tracing his way back to her. Five 
minutes more and the call came again, much 
nearer and louder. 

Before she could realize his nearness, she heard 
his voice quite close. 

“Where are you?” 

“Right here,” she answered joyfully. 

“I made this trip much sooner than I expected. 
That light wasn’t so far away, after all.” 

“Is it a safe place for us to go to?” 

“Quite safe,” he answered, stepping close to 
her and speaking low. “But I must prepare you 
a little for the sight that will meet your eyes. 
That light shines from the abode of a Brother- 
hood. You will find eight or ten men there each 
wearing a Monk’s cassock.” 

“A Brotherhood!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t 
suppose — such things are common in Europe, 
but I never before heard of one being in this part 
of the country.” 

“Neither did I, but perhaps these fellows can 


Swollen Streams 


23 


account for it. One of the Brothers came with 
me to assist us back to the house.” He spoke to 
the Brother who stepped forward. “My friend,” 
he continued, “this is my companion in distress. 
We will hasten on, for the lady is nearly over- 
come from exposure to the water and cold.” 

Without another word, the trio started off to- 
ward the bright light. 

They picked their way along up the rough 
rocky mountainside. Without much difficulty, 
they reached the home of the Brotherhood. The 
building was low, long and of rough exterior, 
and as near the color of the surrounding rocks 
as could be obtained. The front entrance ap- 
peared more like that of a small chapel than of a 
home. The broad stone steps led up to a small 
arched alcove, out of which opened a massive 
weathered-oak door, hung with hammered-brass 
hinges and boasted two long panels of richly 
stained glass, through which the light in the hall 
shone dimly. 

The Brother-guide opened the oaken door and 
let his companions into the hall. Then with a 
soft tread he disappeared through one of the 
many doors at the side of the room. A veil of 
mystery seemed to settle down and envelope 
them. A stillness as of death reigned through- 
out the building. Not the damp, musty air of 
the home of the recluse greeted their nostrils, 


24 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


but a warm, spicy odor as of burning incense. 
Kornell was quite sure he had not noticed this on 
his visit here a half hour earlier. Perhaps he was 
too eager to procure shelter for himself and fair 
companion to have noticed a white elephant 
hanging from the plain but rich chandelier, had 
there been one. He appeared at ease, but the girl 
at his side drew in fluttering breaths, and her 
eyes shone large and dark as they glanced along 
the sides of the hall. She noticed the small doors 
were at intervals of about eight feet apart, pre- 
sumably opening into cell-like rooms. She knew 
the abode of Brotherhoods were upon this plan, 
but not that they partook of this grandeur. What 
order could it be? Her eyes sought the highly 
pohshed floor. She felt that it should have been 
roughly hewn stone or coarse planks. Then she 
raised her eyes to Kornell, who was intently 
watching her. 

“Are you afraid?’’ he asked. 

“I am not without some fears.” 

“What could harm you? Remember I am 
large enough and strong enough to protect you, 
come what will. Besides the Brotherhood is com- 
posed of refined, highly educated men. You 
may be entirely without fear.” 

At that instant the door through which their 
guide disappeared a moment before was thrown 
open and a man, tall, broad and of commanding 


Swollen Stbeams 


25 


appearance, garbed in a dark brown cassock, 
strode softly and gracefully into their presence. 
He extended a hand of welcome to each of the 
hapless guests. 

‘‘Sorry to have kept you standing here so long. 
We were arranging for your comfort. Will the 
lady please follow me?’' He preceded her to a 
room at the extreme end of the hall. Kornell 
went with her to the door, for she had given him 
one appealing look. “Now,” continued the 
Brother, “you will find a few things for your 
comfort in there. If you wish for anything, ring 
the bell which you will find on the mantel.” He 
turned from her to Kornell. “Now for you, my 
friend, follow me.” He led Kornell directly 
across to a small room, and bade him change 
clothing and get warm. 

When the trembling girl stepped into the room 
set apart for her, she closed the door, bolted 
it fast and looked about her with bated breath. 

“A fire-place!” she exclaimed. “And in this 
place of all places. Oh! but it does seem good!” 
She walked over to the bright blazing fire, and 
extended her hands toward the flames. After a 
second she turned to the single bed on which lay 
an outfit of clothing. The underwear — well, 
beggars and flood-refugees shouldn’t be choosers 
— the brown cassock she knew would be warm 
and the moccasins could be tied on, and so cover 


26 


In a Monro’s Cassock 


her feet. She hastily discarded her wet clothing 
and donned the raiment laid out for her, partially 
dried her hair, and braided it into one long thick 
braid. But two hair pins were all that she had 
left, and these were used to fasten the hair back 
from her face. With a set purpose, she picked 
the bell up from the mantel and went to the 
door, opened it and sent a loud ring through the 
silent hall. With a very white face and tremb- 
ling limbs, she waited for an answer to her sum- 
mons. A moment later, a third member of the 
Brotherhood stood before her. He was ex- 
tremely good looking and of pleasing manner, 
though he was not so large a man as Mr. Kornell 
or the Brother who had led her to this room. She 
looked steadily into the man’s face. He plainly 
showed wonder and surprise when he saw her. 

“You rang?” he asked. 

“Yes. May I please have a pail of water and 
a stout cord at once?” 

“I will get them for you.” He bowed himself 
from her presence, and in a few minutes returned 
with the pail of water and the cord. She took 
them from his hands, thanked him, and closed 
the door rather abruptly. The man walked 
away with a beautiful picture firmly impressed 
on his mind. 

The lady again bolted the door, took the pail 
of water to the fire-place, before which her wet 


Swollen Stkeams 


27 


clothing lay in a heap. Drawing the two heavy 
chairs forward before the blazing fire she 
stretched the cord between them and fastened 
the ends securely. Piece by piece she rinsed out 
the garments and hung them up to dry. But her 
dress proved a hopeless case; she dropped it into 
the pail of water and pushed it back against the 
wall. 

Another tap at the door. A fourth Brother 
stood outside, bearing a tray on which was placed 
a tempting lunch and a cup of steaming coffee. 
The lady hailed this with eagerness, for she was 
indeed faint for want of food. 

A half hour later, a third knock sounded 
through the room. “Brother number five. This 
time it is to inform me that it is the hour for 
‘lights out.’ ” The humorous side of this affair 
struck her forcibly, and caused her to smile des- 
pite herself. Then with calm dignity, she opened 
the door. Mr. Kornell, handsome and smiling, 
stood before her. The brown cassock he wore 
became him immensely. They looked at each 
other oddly for a moment. 

“How fortunate,” he said, “that these men 
wear the cassocks.” 

“Yes, fortunate for me,” she answered good 
humoredly. 

“Do you feel equal to a few turns about this 
hall before we say good-night?” 


28 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


'‘It would prove a sort of a relief, I believe, but 
will the Brotherhood sanction it?” 

"You are here under my protection. The 
Brotherhood have nothing to say. What a charm- 
ing bundle of propriety you are,” he said, looking 
kindly down into her face as he placed her small, 
white hand on his arm. "Now, tell me, for I am 
very anxious to know, have you everything com- 
fortable in your room? Is it warm?” 

"Very comfortable and warm. I could ask 
for nothing more unless it were a presentable 
gown;” she looked dubiously down at the brown 
cassock she wore. The heavy brown cord with 
its fluffy tassels was tied loosely about her waist 
and hung nearly to the floor. The wide flowing 
sleeves showed to advantage her white plump 
arms, and the hood-like cape hung from her 
shoulders, the ends forming a V-shaped opening 
at her throat, which appeared so white and slen- 
der against the dark folds of the cassock. The 
robe was too long for her. She gathered up a 
fold with her free hand to keep from stepping 
on the hem. Kornell thought she made a far 
more beautiful picture than when he first saw 
her, gowned in a dark blue traveling suit. 

"You appear very well in the gown you are 
wearing,” he ventured. 

She immediately changed the subject. 


Swollen Streams 


29 


“Don’t you feel that there is a great air of mys- 
tery surrounding this place?” 

“I hadn’t thought about it. Do you feel so?” 

“Yes, from the moment I stepped into this 
hall, I felt it was all very strange.” 

“Why?” 

“We all know that a real Brotherhood dwells 
in a place devoid of all comforts. Those men 
deprive themselves of all but the actual necessi- 
ties of life. Polished oak floors and hammered 
brass hall lamps are not in harmony with their 
devout living, while these men seem to have every 
comfort.” 

“I have but the one answer that I gave before. 
Perhaps these men can account for it all.” 

He led her back to the door of her room and 
paused. 

“You are tired and need rest. But before I 
let you go, promise me to retire immediately and 
go to sleep. For if we can possibly get away 
from here tomorrow, we shall have a strenuous 
tramp of it. Assure me that you will lay aside 
all fear, and sleep.” 

“I cannot promise you that for I know I shall 
not sleep a wink, but I shall try to rest. Good- 
night.” She extended her hand, he clasped it 
within both of his and looked kindly into her 
eyes. 


30 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


“Good-night,” he bade her, then went across 
the hall to his own room. 

Through the long hours of that night, the 
weary girl tossed about on her bed, unable to 
close her eyes in sleep. The dangers she had 
passed through and the mystery she felt sur- 
rounding this place banished any semblance of 
sleep that might have come to her. 

Long past midnight, she realized with a sick- 
ening chill that she had lost her handbag, which 
contained baggage checks, a considerable amount 
of money and a few other trifles. Here she 
was, a stranger, and the only woman among all 
these men, way off on a lonely mountain-side, 
without a gown or a cent with which to buy one. 
She rose and paced the floor of her room fever- 
ishly, waiting for the dawn. 


CHAPTER II 
Morning Mists 

T HE faint light of the early morning crept 
through the long, narrow window into the 
small room and caressed the tall, supple form of 
the hapless girl, who paced the floor nervously. 

The fire in the grate had burned out, leaving 
but a pink glow deep down in the ashes. The 
garments hanging on the cord stretched between 
the two chairs were dry and looked ghostly in the 
dim light. The girl took them down and smoothed 
them out as best she could by laying them across 
her knees and passing her hands firmly over 
them. A half hour later she was dressed and 
ready to start out in search for the lost handbag. 

Softly she left her room and crept stealthily 
along the hall to the front door, unbolted it and 
stepped into the small vestibule. She spied an 
umbrella in a shadowy corner, and taking pos- 
session of it descended the steps and started for 
the river, going as near as she could remember 
over the ground the trio had traversed the night 
before. All the way to the river’s edge her eager 
gaze was unrewarded. The river had risen sev- 
eral feet higher during the night, and the mad 
rush of the foaming water passed far above the 
rock where they had landed ten hours earlier. 

31 


32 


In a Monk's Cassock 


The girl stood there, dazed. Her utter de- 
pendency overpowered her. She knew not which 
way to turn. Although an expert swimmer, she 
realized it would be madness to attempt to cross 
that seething, roaring river. All about her the 
mountains loomed up forebodingly — ^no gateway 
to the outer world; penned up here, the only 
woman among a half score of men. Her situa- 
tion was appalling. Her bravery began to waver ; 
she felt her limbs tremble beneath her and a feel- 
ing of suffocation came into her throat. She 
turned about with a look of utter despair written 
on her lovely face. Then with a catch in her 
breath and drawing herself up majestically, she 
exclaimed : 

“Why, sir, did you follow me here?” for the 
Brother who, the night before had brought her 
the cord and the pail of water, stood before her. 

“I beg your pardon for being here, but you 
are unacquainted with this sort of a place, and I 
feared you would be imable to find your way 
back to the home. You see the building is so 
near the color of the rocks you could easily 
miss it.” 

“I don’t imderstand why you need worry about 
my welfare. Pray leave me. I shall find the 
building readily.” She did not wish to be spied 
upon and resented this intrusion. 


Moening Mists 


33 


“But I cannot leave you here alone. It is my 
duty to look after you.” 

“Why is it your duty?” Her dark blue eyes 
seemed to blaze. 

“I am one of the Brotherhood, as you know; 
therefore, I am in duty bound to look after your 
welfare. Do you realize your position here?” 
He seemed very serious and spoke kindly. 

“I certainly do realize the position I am in 
here. I can’t see that you can alter it any.” 

“Perhaps I can. I understand that the gentle- 
man who accompanied you here last night is a 
stranger to you, and that” — the steady unflincli- 
ing fire from her dark eyes caused him to take a 
step backward. 

“Though he were one thousand times a strang- 
er, he is the truest of perfect gentlemen,” she re- 
torted. 

“I do not deny his gentlemanliness. I only 
wish to prove to you that I am sincere in what I 
am about to say to you.” 

“I don’t want to hear one word!” 

“You shall hear me; remember you are here 
alone and need a protector. Last night when I 
looked into your white, scared face, my heart 
went out to you and long before morning I real- 
ized that I loved you — .” 

“Stop, sir, not another word. Leading the 


34 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


life you do, you are debasing yourself and in- 
sulting me by talking in this manner.’’ 

“It is true that I have taken the vows never 
to marry; but they can easily be broken.” 

“Oh! I blush in shame for your fallen man- 
hood. Leave me!” 

“Do not be so hasty. Let me explain things to 
you. I can clear myself in this matter,” he said 
almost pleadingly. 

“Nothing you could ever say would clear you. 
I shall not listen to a single explanation. Leave 
me this instant, or I shall call for help.” In her 
distress, she had unwittingly lowered the um- 
brella and the rain fell on her relentlessly. 

The large, loose hood of the brown cassock 
had fallen back from her head, forming an ef- 
fective background for her clear, almost per- 
fectly chiseled face. Both man and woman were 
so filled with emotion that they failed to hear ap- 
proaching footsteps and were startled when they 
heard another voice exclaim: 

“What is this about, calling for help?” Kornell 
looked straight into the Brother’s eyes, who re- 
turned his gaze with equal intensity. 

“This lady,” replied the Brother, “resented my 
friendly overtures. She need have had no fear 
of me, for I assured her that I could explain 
matters satisfactorily. I was perfectly honorable 
in my offer — .” 


Morning Mists 


35 


“Offer !” Kornell glared at him savagely, then 
stepped to the trembling girl and gathered her 
cold hands into his warm palm. “What offer did 
you make her?” he demanded. 

“An offer of protection. She is alone here 
among a dozen men. I wished to — .” 

“Once and for all, understand this! This lady 
is under my protection so long as it is necessary 
for her to remain here, and the man who so far 
forgets himself as to offer her a discourtesy shall 
be answerable to me, be he priest or one of the 
common herd. Step back, please, and let us 
pass.” He picked up the fallen umbrella and 
held it over himself and companion, whose fin- 
gers eagerly clung to his strong arm. He led her 
from the place and up the mountainside toward 
the abode of the Brotherhood, but the Brother 
remained standing in the lonely spot for some 
time after they had left. 

Kornell and his companion traversed nearly the 
whole distance before a word was spoken. The 
man’s face was white with suppressed anger, and 
his lips were drawn into a straight line, indicative 
of firmly clinched jaws. When they neared the 
home, he spoke to her in a voice which she hardly 
recognized as his: 

“I thought I had planned so that just such 
annoyances as this should be avoided. I see that 
I failed. May I ask why you were down there?” 


36 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


“Yes,” she replied, looking up and meeting his 
intent gaze, “I have lost my handbag and went 
there to search for it.” Something suggestive 
of a very charming dimple played near the left 
corner of her mouth, but it disappeared immedi- 
ately, for Kornell still wore that angry look. 

“You can’t find your handbag?” 

“No; I firmly believe that I must have drop- 
ped it there by the river when you untied it from 
my wrist. I never gave it a thought after that.” 

“Well, the loss of the handbag is of secondary 
matter. We won’t worry over it. It won’t do 
any good if we do. That which troubles me most 
is that fellow’s conduct. What did he say to 
you that annoyed you so?” 

“Let us not talk about it. I don’t think he 
really meant any harm.” 

“But I must know. Answer my question, 
please.” 

“He said something about — he wished to — 
well, he thought he had fallen in love — .” 

“Oh! he did, eh? The scoundrel!” 

“He is one of the Brothers.” 

“It doesn’t make a particle of difference, we 
will have a settlement later.” 

They went the rest of the way to the home in 
silence. Kornell led his companion up the steps 
and into the vestibule. They paused before the 
massive oaken door. Howard Kornell looked 


Morning Mists 87 

into the girl’s face with that stern and intent 
gaze, then he asked: 

“I wonder if you can tell me what a man 
should do in a case of this kind?” 

‘‘What do you mean? What sort of a case?” 
she asked. 

“I know you fully realize the unpleasant po- 
sition you occupy here. You also know that I 
am your most humble servant. Now tell me 
what I should do?” 

“Get us away from here with all speed pos- 
sible.” 

“Before we attempt to do that, we will look 
into the conditions of things. That river yonder, 
for instance, gobbles up everything that comes 
within its power. It would be madness for me 
to try to cross it. You would be worse off than 
ever, for I never should reach the opposite side — 
alive.” 

“I don’t suppose we could find a boat within 
fifty miles in which we might try to cross over?” 
she asked. 

“These fellows don’t believe in such things; 
besides, no rowboat could cross that river and 
stay right side up. Now, that much is settled 
with. We will take the mountains next. They 
seem to have a grip on us like grim death and 
hold us here despite all efforts to get away. There 
isn’t a town within forty miles either north or 


88 


In a Monk's Cassock 


south of this place. You cannot tramp along the 
mountains that distance, and I cannot go and 
leave you here alone. Another point settled. 
But there is a village back of this mountain, about 
ten miles distant, so one of the Brothers told me.’' 
He watched her closely, to see what effect this 
would have upon her. The girl’s face brightened. 

“Ten miles! That isn’t far. I can tramp 
that and in the rain too.” 

“But listen.” Kornell smiled at her eagerness. 
“Between this mountain and that village, there 
lies a valley which is literally swamped by this 
flood business. That ends the third and last 
loophole of escape.” He looked at her pityingly, 
for she had stepped back against the wall for 
support. All signs of eagerness had left her 
face and her eyes shone bright with apprehension. 
Kornell was sorry for her. He would have given 
half his fortune to have been able to give her one 
spark of hope. 

“Is there no possible way out of here? I can’t 
stay here another hour. I shall endeavor to swim 
across that river. Even if I drown in the at- 
tempt, it were better than this, for don’t you 
see — .” 

“Yes, I see,” answered Kornell. “I under- 
stand all about it. But you must not go near 
that river; promise me — , promise me that!” 

“It is my only way out.” 


Moening Mists 


39 


“I can’t let you go that way. I should not 
attempt it myself, and what an utter failure you 
would make of it. Be reasonable and listen to 
me, for I shall advise you only for the best. Go 
to your room, get warm and comfortable. I shall 
see that a tempting breakfast is sent in to you — 
or rather, I shall bring it to you myself. You 
shall not see any more of these Brothers than is 
absolutely necessary.” He led her into the long 
warm hall and on down to the door of her room. 
“Stay in there until I come for you an hour or 
two later. You will do this, will you not?” 

“Yes. You are so kind, I know that you do 
and will do what is best for me. I can but abide 
by your wishes.” 

Kornell opened the door for her, let her pass 
through, closed it and went in search of food for 
his companion. 


CHAPTER III 
A Man of Honor 

A FTER the breakfast hour, Howard Kornell 

^ sought the head Brother, who had gone to 
his private sanctum for an enjoyable smoke. To 
Kornell’s firm rap, he answered; “Come in,” 
then rose the instant that his caller entered. 

“Brother Paul,” said Kornell, “I wish to hold 
a short conference with you. Will you grant me 
a few minutes of your time?” 

“I am at your service, Mr. Kornell. What can 
I do for you?” He bade his guest to be seated. 
Briefly and rapidly Kornell laid before Brother 
Paul a matter that had pressed heavily upon him 
since the night before. When he finished. Brother 
Paul rubbed his firm white hands together, and 
nodding his head in a business like way, re- 
marked ; 

“It is the only thing to do, Mr. Kornell. The 
only, yes, the only and right thing for you to do.” 

“Before we go farther with this affair, however, 
I should like to have a little mystery cleared up. 
Everything must be done honorably or not at 
all. You understand?” 

“Yes, Mr. Kornell, quite right. What is the 
mystery you allude to?” 

40 


A Man of Honor 


41 


“I feel, as does this lady who is in our midst, 
that this Brotherhood of which you are the head 
is a trifle out of the ordinary. You see, if this 
Order is what I surmise it is, you have neither 
the right nor the power to carry out my wishes 
in the matter which I put before you a moment 
ago. I must have a decidedly truthful answer to 
my question. Who are you fellows, and why are 
you here?’’ 

The careful, studied manner of Brother Paul 
banished in a twinkling; he leaned back in his 
chair and laughed heartily. 

“There is no use trying to masquerade before 
a man of the world. You can’t deceive him. 
Kornell, I shall have to own up. We are a party 
of business men hailing from different cities 
throughout the State. Five years ago we formed 
this Brotherhood, then tramped about until we 
found this lonely spot. 

We had this retreat built, following closely 
upon the plan of the homes of the monks. Our 
tailors made the brown cossacks we are wearing. 
We have a signed and a sealed document, where- 
in we have sworn never to enter the bonds of 
matrimony. For six weeks out of the year we 
live together up here in our lonely retreat. We 
literally vanish from the world, not a soul knows 
our whereabouts, and all communications with 
the outer life are cut off. You and the young 


42 


In a Monk's Cassock 


lady are the first to have stumbled upon us. We 
tried to keep up the semblance of true Brother- 
hood, but I felt you saw through the flimsy at- 
tempt. We even burned spices in the hall last 
night before you returned with the lady, that 
you might mistake it for incense, and think us 
right good fellows.” 

Kornell looked at him intently. “What pure 
unadulterated deceit. Suppose your friends 
think you are on a flying trip to England, or on 
a cruise to the West Indies. This sort of life is 
all right providing you live up to it. Fasting and 
prayer — .” Kornell looked at Brother Paul 
with an odd twinkle in his dark grey eye. 

“Fasti Why man alive we live on the fat of 
the land,” said Paul. “As for prayer — ^well, I 
have never forgotten my ‘Now I lay me.’ ” 

“That much to your credit,” said Kornell. “So 
you have taken vows never to marry — never to 
fall in love?” 

“That we have.” 

“How about the fellow you call Brother Ste- 
phen?” 

“He stands pat by the order, and will never 
go back on his vows. He was the first to take 
the oath.” 

“And the first to break it.” 

“Eh?” 

“I think we had better go back to the subject 


A Man of Honor 


43 


that brought me in to see you. I suppose that 
matter will have to be waived aside.” 

“Not at all, I can help you out just the same, 
Kornell, for I am a probate judge.” 

“Then the sooner it is settled the better. Mind 
you, I expect to meet with some difficulty, but I 
fully realize that it is the only way out of this 
affair.” He rose and walked to the door. “I 
shall inform you as to my success or failure.” 

Kornell left the young judge and walked with 
a firm step down the hall and stopped before the 
lady’s door and rapped. The lady answered his 
knock, then joined him in the hall. 

“We will take a long walk this rainy forenoon, 
in this delightful hall. How was your break- 
fast?” 

“Very nice, indeed. I relished every mouthful, 
and now I am ready for a long tramp.” She fell 
into step with him, then asked: “Can’t we go 
up to the top of the mountain?” 

“Not if the walk is to be taken in the hall.” 

“I meant that we should take it out-of-doors, 
of course. I am not afraid of rain, and I should 
take delight in climbing up there.” 

Howard Kornell looked into her face. Her 
cheeks were flushed and her eyes shone bright; 
he knew that she would be equal to the occasion. 

“Haven’t you had enough of long tramps in 
the rain?” 


44 


In a Monro's Cassock 


“It would help to pass away the time if we 
went. Besides, the mountain-side is full of 
beauty. The laurel is beyond description; it 
forms a veritable carpet, with its pink and pur- 
ple blossoms.’’ 

“I feel that you wish more to disprove my as- 
sertions than to find pleasure or see beauty in 
climbing this mountain.” 

“No, I believe what you told me about the 
valley being filled with water. But seriously, 
what do you suppose we would see if we went to 
the top of the mountain?” 

“Probably what the bear saw.” 

“And that?” 

“Was the other side of the mountain.” 

The lady looked up quickly, but his face was 
perfectly calm. 

“You are droll,” she said. 

“I don’t feel a bit droll. Since last night, my 
brain hasn’t known an instant’s rest, for it has 
been pressed with a very weighty matter.” 

“Foreign matter pressing the brain usually 
proves fatal.” 

It was his turn to look quickly at her, but her 
face was very sober and she looked straight 
ahead, and spied the German letters S. M. R. 
set in the stained glass transom above the front 
door. 


A Man of Honor 


45 


“I suppose those letters stand for ‘Saint Mich- 
ael’s’ or ‘Saint Matthew’s Retreat?’ ” 

“ ‘Single Man’s Retreat,’ would be more to the 
point,” he answered. 

“I know that a Brotherhood is composed of 
single men,” 

“Yes, but this is different.” 

“How different?” 

“This is not a religious order.” 

She looked up startled: “Not religious! Then 
there is a mystery?” The pink flush left her 
cheeks. “Are they a — a band of robbers, dis- 
guised as Monks? You must know. Tell me 
what you have found out, for I cannot stand this 
suspense a moment longer.” 

“No, they are not robbers, but very respect- 
able business men. They come up here and live 
this life for the oddity of it and to have a 
thorough rest from the cares, both business and 
social.” 

“That, then, is what that fellow wanted to ex- 
plain to me, and I wouldn’t listen because I 
thought he belonged to a holy order. Oh! I’d 
give all I possess if I could only get away from 
here.” 

“But we cannot get away for at least a week 
or ten days.” 

“What shall we do?” She clasped her hands 
in a vice-like grip. 


46 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


'‘I have thought of every possible way of es- 
cape, but I am balked at every turn. As for my- 
self, I don’t care, but your welfare must and 
shall be considered, now that I have made sure 
that we are prisoners for a while. Let me get a 
chair for you, then I will tell you what I think 
should be done.” He started for his room, but 
she detained him. 

“No, don’t get a chair; I could not sit quietly 
for a second. Let us walk.” 

Together they paced the length of the hall, 
then Kornell said: 

“I know it is hard for a girl to place confidence 
in a stranger. I shouldn’t advise it in every in- 
stance. But as our case is a trifie out of the 
ordinary I hope you can bring yourself to trust 
my honesty in the matter I am about to lay be- 
fore you. First of all, do you believe me to be a 
man of honor?” He looked into her eyes. She 
answered : 

“Indeed, I do. Your conduct toward me 
through all our mishaps proves that.” 

“Again. Do you believe me when I tell you 
that I have no one nearer and dearer to me than 
my mother and sister, and that I have a perfect 
right to say all of this to you?” 

“Yes, I know your — I am sure you speak the 
truth,” she corrected hastily. 

“If my sister were in your place and a good 


A Man of Honor 


47 


upright man wished to do for her that which I 
wish to do for you, I should honor him greatly, 
l^ou are here, the only woman among a dozen 
men; they are worldly fellows and when they 
find out whom we are they will have a great 
deal to say — should they feel so inclined — ^when 
they return to their homes. I want to avoid 
this and offer you as a protection my name. Will 
you accept it upon so short an acquaintance? 
Remember it is' for your future welfare that I 
do this. Think the matter over seriously. You 
will see that it must be as I wish.’’ 

The girl looked at him wonderingly. She was 
unable to comprehend his meaning for she seemed 
stunned for the moment. She raised her dark 
eyes, and searched his face intently. 

“ What do you mean?” she asked. 

“That we be married immediately.” 

“Married!” she cried out. Then a faint smile 
passed over her pallid face, for a happy thought 
came to her. 

“Why, we cannot be married, for these men 
are not priests.” 

“No, but there is a probate judge among them, 
and he can perform the ceremony.” 

“But that would be a civil ceremony.” 

“Which I feel would be as binding and hold 
as good as a religious ceremony.” 


48 


In a Monk's Cassock 


“Either civil or religious, in this case, it would 
not be a true marriage.” 

“Why not?” He was looking at her intently. 

“There must be true, undivided love in the 
heart of each in order that a marriage be a true 
one. You know that,” she finished, meeting his 
eyes steadily. 

“Yes, I know. But we will forget that there 
is a lack of sentiment in the affair, and think 
only of what must be done. In this case, it is a 
man doing his duty by protecting a woman’s 
honor. I am sure you see it all clearly.” 

“You are kind — wonderfully kind — ^to take 
my welfare so to heart. But I cannot accept 
your generous offer.” 

“Think of your career.” 

“My career!” she exclaimed, looking up with 
a startled expression. “You — .” 

“Yes, I know most women have mapped out 
a career for themselves. You impressed me as 
being one of the talented sort. I have weighed 
well all sides of the affair, and I know I have de- 
cided for the best. It is no more than any man, 
possessing a true sense of honor would do. Think 
over clearly and carefully what I have proposed, 
then give me your answer.” 

White and trembling, she kept pace with Kor- 
nell back and forth in the hall. He began to 
wonder when she would speak or whether she 


A Man of Honor 


49 


were past doing so. He looked at her white face 
and saw she was going through a terrible strug- 
gle. But he knew that she was of strong mind 
and clear thought, and that her sense of the 
fitness of things would bring her to his way of 
thinking. 

Finally she spoke. 

“Oh! was ever a girl in such a plight?” 

“I am sorry, honestly and heartily sorry for 
you.” He placed her hand back on his arm and 
held it there with a firm pressure. “Have you 
reached a decision?” he asked very kindly. 

One long fluttering breath, then she answered : 

“On two conditions only will I consent to — ^to 
what you wish.” 

“And those conditions?” he asked. 

“Are these: That while we are here, you will 
treat me as though I were indeed your sister, and 
when we leave here we shall each go our separate 
ways. And if we should chance to meet later it 
must be as though we never had met before. For 
the world must never know.” 

“All shall be as you wish. I only ask you to 
take my name and give me the right to protect 
you while it shall be necessary for us to remain 
here. As for the future, we will let that take 
care of itself. Now let us have it over with at 
once. The sooner the better. Shall it be so?” 

“But it seems to me that we could get out of 


50 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


here if we made a stirring effort. You see I do 
not want to give in to this unless it is absolutely 
necessary. Don’t you think in another day or 
two we could leave here? It seems to be bright- 
ening a little. Perhaps those clouds will disap- 
pear and the sun will show his face and dry things 
up so that we can make our escape.” 

“It will take several days of warm sunshine 
to enable us to get away from here. You must 
listen to reason and do as I wish.” 

“Very well, as you think best,” answered the 
girl passing her hand wearily across her eyes. 

Howard Kornell paused and faced her, and 
kindly said: 

“Now you must keep up your bravery. Re- 
member, this will give you the right to come to me 
with all your perplexities. One or two questions 
I must ask you ; they are very personal ones, and 
I stand in no little awe about asking them. You 
know the judge will have to make out a special 
license and he must know your age and name. 
Tell me, please, how old you are.” 

“Twenty-four,” unfalteringly. 

“And now your name.” 

A flush overspread her face, for he looked deep 
into her eyes as if to challenge her. But she 
mustered up courage and answered: 

“Beatrice J — Jones.” Instantly she looked 


A Man of Honor 


51 


away from him, for she had caught an amused 
twinkle in his eye. “Why do you smile?” 

“The name, that is the latter part of it, doesn’t 
seem to suit you.” 

“Why not? Isn’t J ones a good enough name?” 

“Yes, of course. It has got to be a good name. 
Why, bless you, there are thousands of people in 
this old world of ours bearing that name. It is 
one of the four great pillars. But I own I was a 
little disappointed, for I have always had an odd 
fancy that people’s names suited their bearer, 
and J ones doesn’t strike me as suiting you worth 
a cent.” 

“Well, I am a descendant of Paul Jones.” She 
dared to look into his face. He wore a broad 
smile, which hurt her immeasurably. 

“Sir!” she said vehemently. “This is no time 
to laugh. It may all seem funny to you, but to 
me it is a very serious matter.” 

“Pardon me. Miss Jones — it really seems good 
to know of some name by which I may address 
you, whether it be Smith, Jones, Robinson or 
Brown. At any rate you have been a jewel 
through all this odd adventure and excitement; 
do pardon me for smiling and seeming to be rude, 
but the thought struck me that Paul Jones died 
an old bachelor. 

Beatrice looked up at him with an amused 
smile and asked: 


52 


In a Monk^'s Cassock 


“Did I say a descendant of Paul Jones? I 
meant, of one of his relatives.” 

“We will let that go as settled then. Now I 
will take you back to your room, and will come 
for you when we are ready. As a parting word 
of cheer, remember this ; That all shall be as you 
wish.” 

Kornell stood aside and watched Beatrice en- 
ter her room and close the door, then he turned 
and went to the judge’s room. 


CHAPTER IV 
A Binding Knot 

TTOWARD KORNELL made final arrange- 
ments with the judge for the ceremony, 
then went back to Beatrice’s room. The door 
stood ajar. Kornell rapped, called to her, but 
no answer came. He pushed the door wide open 
and looked into the room; the girl had gone. 
With a horrible fear rushing upon him, he looked 
about, and hurried down the ball to the massive 
f ront door. He was af raid that she had attempted 
to make her escape. 

The heavy door swung back and Kornell 
hastened into the vestibule. He was not pre- 
pared for the sight that met his eyes. 

Beatrice was leaning against the wall, close to 
the archway, her hands tightly clasping the edge 
of the framework, and her head bent forward and 
resting on her arms, hiding her face, on which was 
written the pangs of suffering. She was a pit- 
iable sight to look upon. Kornell stepped up to 
her and spoke her name, but she remained rigid 
and did not appear to have heard him. He 
placed his strong hand over her cold, stiff fingers 
and in a deep, kind voice said: 

“We are ready now.” 

5a 


54 


In a Money's Cassock 


Still Beatrice did not move. 

‘‘Won’t you look up?” he asked. “This won’t 
be nearly so hard as you think, and the sooner 
we have everything settled the better. Come,” 
gently, but commandingly, “The judge is wait- 
ing for us.” 

A shudder passed over the form of the girl; 
she raised her head and slowly turned her pallid 
face toward him. Kornell gave a slight start, 
when he saw this evidence of agony. 

“Great God!” he said reverently, “how you 
are suffering,” and his own face paled. “I wish 
for your sake there were some other way out of 
this. But as there is none, can’t you see that this 
is for the best? That it must be? You have been 
the bravest of women all through our short but 
adventurous acquaintance. You are not going 
to waver now, are you?” 

Only a low moan from the wretched girl ans- 
wered this. With a gentle touch, Kornell un- 
clasped the stiff fingers that gripped the frame- 
work of the archway and held them firmly within 
his hands, compelling her to look up into his eyes. 

“I wish,” he said, “that you knew how it hurts 
me to have you take this so to heart. I fear that 
^T'ou think I am taking undue advantage of your 
situation here. But I swear to you most solemn- 
ly that I have but one thought, and that is to do for 
you what is right and honorable. Beatrice — 


A Binding Knot 


55 


pardon me for addressing you thus, but give me 
that privilege, will you? It seems less formal, 
considering the step we are about to take. After 
a little I shall want you to call me by a name.” 
He looked kindly and smiling upon her. She 
tried to answer, but her lips would not form the 
words. Kornell continued : ‘‘A little while ago 
you assured me that you trusted me; that you 
knew that I had a perfect right to take this step, 
and that I am doing all this for your welfare 
alone. Now prove to me that trust and come 
with me without another moment’s delay.” 

Beatrice stepped back from Kornell and draw- 
ing her hands from his, said falteringly: 

‘‘I am going in there with you — . I have made 
up my mind to that, for I fully appreciate your 
honorable act. I thought I knew the world and 
its ways, but I find that this phase of it has struck 
me forcibly for the first time. No matter how 
innocent a person may be, the world as a whole 
believes the worst. 

‘‘I have been wondering how many men would 
have done as you have in this matter; thrown 
aside sentiment, personal feeling, and dismissed 
the idea that friends and relatives might censure 
you, merely to protect an utter stranger. And 
the only way I can prove my gratitude is to go 
through with the ceremony. If in your estima- 
tion, and that of these men, it is binding enough 


56 


In a Money's Cassock 


to avert any hint at a scandal, I consent. But 
before we go in there, let me say once more, that 
you shall be as free as the wind and I shall con- 
sider myself the same, for to me this ceremony is 
not binding ; I do not feel that it is a holy union ; 
therefore, we cannot be as man and — wife.” 

“That, then,” said Kornell, “is the cause of your 
hesitancy. Your proud, sensitive nature has been 
shocked. How mightily sorry I feel about it. 
But, listen, I bow most humbly and respectfully 
to your decree, and you shall have no fault to 
find with me. You already know why I am doing 
this. To me this ceremony will be binding, but 
you need not think of that, for I shall keep my 
place. When a man has lived to reach my age, 
he generally knows whether or not he is willing 
to give up his freedom. I do not believe that you 
can ever forget this episode. You cannot close 
your eyes and blot it out entirely. It is going 
to come to you occasionally, and each time it is 
going to leave a greater impression upon you, and 
perhaps — who knows what the future may hold 
for us. This affair seems cold and unnatural, I 
know. We all have dreams of a beautiful ro* 
mance to come some time in our lives, when the 
heart of one person is filled with pure, warm af- 
fection for a chosen one. But love to you I do 
not offer, I shouldn’t dare to do so. You would 
only laugh such a declaration to scorn. But the 


A Binding Knot 


57 


hands which I hold out to you are clean, thank 
God. You need not hesitate to place your pure, 
white ones in them.” 

Beatrice looked at the strong hands Kornell 
extended toward her, then confidingly placed her 
own in them, and with a very winning smile said : 

“I hardly believe that in the kindness of your 
heart, you have stopped to consider what you are 
doing, in taking this step. I am a total stranger 
to you; how do you know that I am worthy this 
great sacrifice on your part?” 

“ ’Tis true,” answered Kornell, ‘‘that we n^ver 
met until yesterday, but when a man looks into 
the face and a pair of eyes which reflect thoughts 
of a beautiful mind and a pure heart, he knows 
that he is in the company of a noble woman, 
worthy any act of kindness he may tender her. 
But believe me, I am making no sacrifice.” He 
looked smilingly into her eyes. “I think we thor- 
oughly understand each other. Now we will go 
and have the seal put on this compact.” He placed 
her hand on his arm and started toward the door, 
but Beatrice hung back and looked down at her 
gown. 

“Why do you hesitate?” asked Kornell. 

Beatrice raised her dark blue eyes and looked 
at him. He thought the tears were very near the 
surface; and her voice trembled slightly as she 
answered : 


58 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


“The thought just came to me that my gown is 
hardly a proper one for the occasion. I am ar- 
rayed in a Monk’s brown cassock.” 

“You are no worse off than I am. I don’t know 
but what I am a little elated at the idea that you 
cannot crow over me as far as finery is concerned,” 
he laughed softly. 

“But that cassock becomes you immensely.” 

“I could easily return the compliment. Now 
we are ready, aren’t we?” he said, starting once 
more toward the door. He led her through the 
hall and on into the judge’s room, where several 
of the Brothers as witnesses were awaiting them. 

The Brothers rose when Howard Kornell and 
Beatrice entered. The judge met them in the 
center of the room, and led them to the low, mas- 
sive table whereon lay books and magazines, then 
he stepped around to the other side and in a full, 
deep voice impressively repeated the marriage 
ceremony. When he had finished, the Brothers 
circled about them and tendered their congratu- 
lations. Kornell took it all calmly, and he noticed 
that Beatrice was trying to do likewise, but her 
face had become pitiably white, and once she 
passed her trembling hand across her eyes, as 
though to close out all that had just taken place. 
Compassion for the girl filled Kornell’s heart. He 
led her quickly from the room and out to the 
vestibule. He waited some moments for her to 


A Binding Knot 


59 


regain composure. When he saw the color re- 
turning to her cheeks and her head lifted up in 
its usual proud way, he drew from an inner breast 
pocket of his cassock a bit of folded white paper 
and said; 

“Are you not the least bit curious to know your 
new name?’’ 

“No, I think not. I have taken it on trust with 
all the rest.” She looked way off to the hazy dis- 
tance. 

Kornell stepped quite close to her, and un- 
folded the bit of paper. When Beatrice saw this, 
she took a step backward, the color again receded 
from her cheeks and her eyes took on a frightened 
look. Somehow that trifling piece of paper struck 
terror to her heart. A weakness overcame her and 
her limbs began to tremble, and nearly refused 
to bear her weight. She had fought against the 
idea that this marriage should be a binding one. 
What if that piece of parchment bore mute evi- 
dence against such a thought? Her lips could 
hardly frame the question. 

“What is that paper — why do you bring it to 
me?” 

“Beatrice, you know what it is. You know that 
it is the certificate of our marriage, and that I 
must give it into your keeping. Never lose it. 
Before T give it to you, however, I want you to 
look at it, please, for it is time you found out your 


60 


In a Moneys Cassock 


new name.” He held the unfolded sheet of paper 
before her but placed a finger over his own name. 
“Beatrice, will you look at this certificate ?” There 
was a faint ring of entreaty in his voice; she raised 
her eyes to the paper. The certificate had been 
beautifully written out, but the words were all 
jumbled together before her with the exception 
of her name; that stood out in bold, clear black 
letters, Beatrice Jewell, She stood as though 
rooted to the spot for a moment, then turned her 
eyes, wide with astonishment, upon him, asking 
falteringly: 

“You — ^you knew me, then?” 

“Yes, I knew you the instant I saw you, upon 
entering the car yesterday afternoon. Now, will 
you look at my name?” 

“No, take away that paper. I have no need 
to look upon it.” 

“Why not?” 

“I know your name.” 

“Yes, you know that it is Howard, for the 
judge told you that. The rest is what I want you 
to know.” 

“I know that, too.” 

“Have you known all along?” 

“I have. I saw you on the platform at the 
depot before you entered the train yesterday. I 
never before saw brother and sister look so much 
ahke as do you and Ethel.” 


A Binding Knot 61 

“Then I am — ” he wanted to hear her speak his 
name. 

“Howard Kornell,” she answered. 

“Then if you recognized me, why didn’t you 
make some sign? Why did you wish to keep me 
ignorant of that?” 

“Because I thought you did not recognize me 
and I have always tried not to — .” 

“Not to meet me?” 

“Yes. I never wanted to meet you. I had 
made a final resolve to that effect.” 

“Why did you not want to meet me?” 

“I had very great reasons.” 

“What were they?” His voice had a ring of 
sternness in it. 

“Do you insist upon an answer?” smiling into 
his eyes. 

“I do. Please answer at once.” 

Beatrice turned away from his beaming eyes 
and answered : 

“Perhaps you are not aware of the fact that 
your mother and sister turned matchmakers in 
our behalf?” 

Kornell laughed heartily. 

“They thought that you and I were entirely 
suited to each other, and endeavored for years to 
bring about a meeting, but you successfully frus- 
trated each attempt. Knowing that you and 
Ethel were such inseparable friends, I have often 


62 


In a Moneys Cassock 


wondered what kept you from coming to our 
home, when you knew there was a probability of 
meeting me. You were not afraid of me, were 
you?” 

“Oh, no! but even though I dearly love your 
mother and sister, I could not let them dispose 
of my hand in that manner, were you twice their 
son and brother.” 

“But fate stole a march on them, didn’t it, and 
gave me that privilege?” He gathered her hands 
into his own and held them closely. “Now, I sup- 
pose you wonder how I came to recognize you so 
readily? If a certain miniature artist, who has 
won great fame in New York in the last year, 
would stop to reflect for a moment, she would 
remember that she painted a charming miniature 
of herself and presented it to my sister just be- 
fore the close of their seminary days.” 

“And you saw that ? Ethel promised me faith- 
fully she would never show it to you.” 

“She didn’t. I saw it by accident. I asked her 
whose picture it was and she told me.” 

“I wonder where that miniature can be. Ethel 
told me that she had misplaced it, and she has 
searched the house from end to end and is unable 
to find it. Have you any idea where it could be?” 

“Shall we go in now?” asked Kornell, seem- 
ingly in a hurry to dismiss the subject of the mini- 
ature. “You have stood out here in this chill air 


A Binding Knot 


68 


too long. The first thing I know I will have a 
sick one to care for. Dinner will soon be ready. 
The Brothers have prepared a feast in our honor. 
You will gratify them by dining with us, will you 
not?” 

“Yes, I will go with you. I am quite anxious 
to see them all.” 

“I am greatly pleased to think you will do this. 
Now, I will take you back to your room, and when 
the feast is spread, I will come for you.” 

Slowly they went the length of the hall. The 
color had returned to the girl’s cheeks and a smile 
flitted across her face. Kornell felt that she was 
regaining her cheerful spirits. When they reached 
her door, she paused and said as she drew her hand 
from his arm, “What a strange adventure this 
has been. I cannot help but wonder how it will 
all end.” 

“We can’t tell that now. But I feel sure it will 
end right, for this was to have been; we cannot 
get away from that, therefore, it must end well.” 
He bowed smilingly to her, then went to his own 
room. 


CHAPTER V 
A Mountain Climb 


HE bridal feast, as the Brothers termed it, 



was a decided success. Beatrice was seated 
at the head of the table as honorary guest. She 
was smiling and brilliant in conversation, forget- 
ting for the time being her peculiar situation. 
Kornell sat at her right and the judge occupied 
a seat at the left. The Brothers, one and all, 
strove to make the hour a pleasant one. When 
the meal was finished, they rose and tendered to 
the one woman in their midst a toast. Beatrice 
responded gracefully, but a pink flush suffused 
her face, when she heard herself addressed as Mrs. 
Kornell. After this, she felt more at ease at the 
“Retreat.” 

The small library, with its goodly store of books 
and magazines, was tendered her as a place to 
pass the time during the day. After the supper- 
hour each evening she walked with Kornell, back 
and forth in the hall, for an hour or more, then 
she would bid him “good-night,” and lock herself 
securely in her room. 

Thus the days passed while they were in their 
prison house. After a little the sun showed his 
face and his genial smile warmed the rocks, dried 


64 


A Mountain Climb 


65 


up the wet places, and sent a breath of spring 
along the mountain-side. 

The second Sabbath of their so j urn at the “Re- 
treat” dawned beautifully bright, the air was quite 
warm and laden with the breath of the laurel. 

Directly after dinner Howard Kornell chal- 
lenged Beatrice to a tramp to the crest of the 
mountain. She accepted and they started away 
joyfully on their trip. 

Kornell helped her over the difficult places, 
although she preferred to pick her way unaided. 
Their conversation was on general subjects — 
never of a personal nature. True to his promise, 
Kornell had kept his place, and never by word or 
look treated her other than a loved sister. 

Their tramp up the mountain-side was an en- 
joyable one. When they reached the summit 
they stood quietly and looked at the magnificent 
panorama stretched out before them. A deep, 
full breath escaped the girl’s lips; Kornell heard 
it and looked quickly into her face. Instantly 
he realized that although her body was present, 
her mind was far away. He thought to bring it 
back, and broke the silence; 

“What a beautiful world this is.” 

“Glorious,” she answered, with the far-away 
look still in her eyes. 

“But I mean it.” 

“So do I.” 


66 


In a Monk's Cassock 


“Beatrice, will you take your eyes oflP that point 
you have fixed in the far distance, the dickens 
knows where, and look at me?” 

Her eyes never wavered, but a smile wreathed 
her full red lips, as she asked : 

“Why do you want me to look at you?” 

“Because I feel sure you do not really know 
what sort of a looking man I am. I don’t believe 
you have looked at me twice since we have been 
in prison.” 

“I don’t think that I shall ever quite forget how 
you look.” 

“Then I have made a slight impression?” 
Quickly he stepped before her. “Pardon me, but 
I fear that unless I cut off that current of mag- 
netism, you will fare as did Lot’s wife. Salt is 
all right in its way, but it is decidedly out of the 
way up here on this moimtain crest.” 

For the first time he heard her silvery laugh 
ring out. She raised her eyes to meet his and said : 

“I was deep in thought. This is the first time 
I have been able to get away from here since our 
imprisonment.” 

“Don’t go again until I can go with you. Please 
keep your thoughts here. It’s mighty lonely when 
one is left to himself.” 

“I didn’t mean to be rude. Kindly forgive 


A Mountain Climb 


67 


“You are fully forgiven. Now to cheer you 
up a bit, I am going to tell you why I brought 
you here. Do you see that small ridge running 
into the submerged valley, off there to the west?” 

“Yes, I see it; that is, a very small part of a 
ridge.” 

“Well,” said Kornell slowly. “That ridge will 
soon be above water, and we will be able to make 
our way over it and get to that village that lies 
off there to the south.” 

“But when ? That water is an eternity in lower- 
ing. When will it be low enough to allow us to 
pass over?” 

“In a few we — ” 

“Weeks! exclaimed Beatrice, excitedly. “You 
don’t mean to tell me that we are compelled to re- 
main here for weeks to come?” 

“Do you dislike being here with me so very 
much?” looking into her worried face. She en- 
countered a look in his eyes that caused her to turn 
away quickly, but he saw the flush spread from her 
cheek to the tip of her dainty ear. 

“I should be at home,” she said, ignoring his 
question. “I have several important engage- 
ments for next week and the week following. And 
I know Cousin Emily is wild with worry about me. 
She has had no word from me for nearly two 
weeks. We have been here ten days, and if there 
are weeks to follow — I shall attempt to swim 


68 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


across that river. It is not so wild as it was and 
not nearly so high.’’ 

“We are going to wait for the water to lower 
from that ridge,” said Kornell calmly and forc- 
ibly. “Be patient, and I shall get you away from 
here as soon as I possibly can. We are in hopes 
that by the last of this week we may be able to 
make our way along the ridge, and get to the 
village yonder.” 

Beatrice turned about with a beaming face, 
saying joyfully; 

“Why didn’t you say days instead of weeks? 
I believe I can wait patiently for the end of the 
week. But how you did frighten me. Why did 
you do it?” 

“I wanted to hear what you would say. Now 
that you know that release is near at hand, you 
feel happier, don’t you?” 

“I can hardly believe what you have told me is 
true. We have been here ages, it seems.” 

“Shall we tramp back to the house? We’ll 
spend the rest of the afternoon in that cozy little 
library.” 

“I am ready to start this instant, Mr. Kornell.” 
She turned to leave, but he grasped her hand and 
detained her. 

“Beatrice, unless you cease calling me Mr. 
Kornell, I shall address you as Mrs. Kornell, just 
as sure as the sun shines above us.” 


A Mountain Climb 


69 


“Oh! no, no!’’ she shrank away from him. 
‘‘Please do not. I’ll be very careful not to speak 
the name again.” 

“But, I am sure, you know what I should like 
to have you call me.” 

“Please do not ask it of me. Remember our 
short acquaintance.” 

“But you have known of me for years. And 
now,” he said with a meaning look in his eyes, “we 
are as one.” 

Beatrice tried to draw her hand away, but he 
held it tightly. 

“Why do you allude to — to that?” she asked, 
lowering her eyes before his steady gaze. 

“Because I do not want you to forget it, ever! 
What have you done with the certificate, Beatrice. 
You have it safe, have you not?” 

“It — it is safe.” 

Kornell did not like her indifferent attitude, 
his face became stern. “Beatrice, what have you 
done with it? Have you dared to destroy that 
certificate? For if you have I shall have another 
one filled out, and take care of it myself. To me 
this is a very serious matter.” 

“You will not have to. get another, for I have 
this one safe and sound.” She looked at him with 
a mocking little twinkle in her blue eyes. 

Kornell reached for her other hand, and hold- 
ing them firmly within his, fairly beamed upon 


70 


In a Monk's Cassock 


her. “Why didn’t you tell me at once that you had 
that paper safe?” 

“I wanted to hear what you would have to say.” 

“You rogue,” he said, raising her hands to his 
lips and pressing a caress on the back of each. 
Beatrice blushed painfully and quickly drew her 
hands from his. 

They left the crest of the mountain and picked 
their way down toward the “Retreat.” At first 
they were silent, not even glancing at each other, 
then the shyness, caused by Howard KorneU’s 
first caress, partially wore away and Beatrice 
essayed to converse with him. 

When they reached the retreat they went to 
the cozy library. Kornell drew a large, comfort- 
able chair to the side of the couch, placed Beatrice 
in it, then he picked up a magazine and threw him- 
self rather wearily upon the couch. Beatrice 
could look squarely into his face. She watched 
him closely for a moment. He searched the pages 
of the periodical; having found the desired article, 
he placed the magazine in her hands, saying : 

“Read that to me, please, and I shall consider 
it a great favor.” 

Beatrice looked at the title, then glanced over 
the succeeding pages. 

“But this is a love story.” 

“I know it. Read it, please.” 

Beatrice looked at him quickly. He was lying 


A Mountain Climb 71 

on his back, stretched full length, with eyes closed 
and hands pressed beneath his head. 

“You are tired?’’ asked Beatrice. She had 
noticed for two or three days past that a weari- 
ness was growing about his eyes. He was either 
deep in thought or did not choose to answer. She 
asked again, “Are you tired?” 

“A trifle. Please read.” 

He was Arm in the resolve that she should read 
to him, so she took kindly to her task. Her voice, 
though low, was clear, musical and very soothing 
to the weary man. His eyes remained closed, and 
she read on for nearly half an hour. Suddenly 
she ceased reading. Silence ensued for several 
minutes, then Kornell spoke: 

“That ended rather abruptly and altogether at 
the wrong place.” 

“But that wasn’t the end.” 

“Then we will hear the rest.” 

“It’s dreadfully silly.” 

“It can’t be. I know the author of that story 
and he is a very sensible fellow.” 

“Still, he could write silly stuff.” 

“Do you call the outpouring of a full heart 
silly stuff?” 

“It sounds so when you read it to — aloud. Of 
course, when people read such things to them- 
selves they don’t seem that way.” 


,72 


In a Monk's Cassock 


“It didn’t seem at all silly to me. That man 
has a wonderful gift for love making on paper.” 

“There is a reason for his pouring his heart out 
on paper.” 

“Why?” asked Kornell, opening his eyes and 
looking at her. 

“You have met his wife, surely?” 

“Yes; I know her well, and think her a very 
charming woman.” 

“Charming!” 

“Why, yes. Don’t you agree with me?” Kornell 
had again closed his eyes and his face was per- 
fectly calm. 

“No, I do not agree with you. In fact I know 
that you do not mean what you say when you call 
her charming, for to be charming, one must be 
passably good looking, and she — Oh! I never 
before saw, nor have I since seen, so frightfully 

homely a woman. I do not wonder R locks 

himself in his study when his heart gets full to 
overflowing and pours out his feelings to an 
imaginary sweetheart. For a man fllled with 
beautiful romance cannot sing love sonatas to 
one so far removed from his ideal. That is the 
reason he makes such a success with his love 
stories, for he writes of what he feels is lacking 
in his own life, and for which his whole soul is 
longing with a passion that is past understand- 
ing.” 


A Mountain Climb 


73 


“But he must have loved her, else why did he 
marry her?’' 

Beatrice flushed and looked at Kornell. His 
eyes were still closed and his face remained 
passive. 

“He, like many another, chose his life com- 
panion before the awakening of his soul.” 

“Had he waited — ?” 

“He would have found and married his ideal.” 

“Then you would advise a man to wait until 
he was thirty or thirty-flve before he chose a wife?” 

“Until he was twenty-flve, at least.” 

“As I am thirty-six, you will no doubt give me 
credit for having known what I was about 
when — ” 

“I will flnish reading this romance,” broke in 
Beatrice, “just to see how it will end. Try to fall 
asleep while I am reading.” 

Kornell drew his hands from beneath his dark 
head, interlaced his Angers and pressed them 
across his eyes. Soon his regular breathing 
caused Beatrice to feel that he was sleeping, and 
lest she wake him by stopping too suddenly, she 
lowered her tones gradually and Anally ceased 
reading, her voice trailing off in a whisper. She 
dropped the book to her lap, then leaned her head 
against the cushioned back of the chair and 
breathed deeply. Long and earnestly Beatrice 
looked at the man lying before her, whose broad 


74 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


chest rose and fell at regular intervals. A mere 
suggestion of a smile lurked about the corners 
of his firm but pleasant mouth, and the heav}^ 
mass of dark brown hair fell back from the broad, 
white forehead, which bespoke high intelligence. 
Beatrice knew that the carefully groomed hands 
which lay across his eyes were strong, helpful 
ones, and would, she felt, be very tender toward 
the woman who could fully and unreservedly give 
herself into their keeping. She conjured up all 
sorts of pictures with the man lying before her as 
the central figure; but the woman, a sort of a 
filmy being, who basked in the light of his de- 
votion, was other than herself, and she found not 
a pang of jealousy in her whole being. 

Thus nearly a half hour passed away, when 
suddenly Kornell startled Beatrice by saying; 

“Well, what is your estimate of the man?” He 
drew his hands from across his eyes, slipped them 
under his head and looked at her openly. 

“I thought,” she looked away quickly, and a 
deep blush mantled her cheeks, “I thought you 
were sleeping,” evading his question. 

“I will be honest and tell the truth. I haven’t 
closed my eyes for an instant.” 

“Then you—” 

“I knew you were watching me. I felt the 
magnetism. What were your thoughts?” 

Beatrice knew now that he had been watching 


A Mountain Climb 


75 


her through a tiny crack between his fingers. She 
felt exceedingly foolish and wished she were any- 
where else upon earth than just there. 

“I do not believe my thoughts would be con- 
sidered worth very much,” she replied. “I was 
dreaming wake-dreams, sort of filmy affairs, 
which passed before me without clear outlines and 
which I tried to put into some semblance of real- 
ity.” 

“You paint mental pictures, too, do you? I 
confess that I have drawn a few while I lay here, 
but they were very clear and seem quite real. I 
am going to try and bring them into life.” He 
arose and walked to the window, but returned im- 
mediately and sat upon the couch near Beatrice, 
so near that she felt his warm breath caress her 
flushed cheek. 

“May I tell you about those pictures?” he con- 
tinued. “They might make a difference.” 

“No, please do not tell me about them. Let 
us talk of other things.” 

“I think perhaps it were just as well to change 
the subject, for here comes Brother Stephen. That 
reminds me. I still have that account to settle 
with him. I wonder whether he prefers pistols 
or swords ?” 

“He shall have no choice to make, for I shall 
not allow any affair of that sort to take place. 


76 


In a Monk's Cassock 


If you want to keep my good will do nothing more 
about that fellow’s foolish speech.” 

“I want your good will above all things, so I 
suppose I shall have to give up the pleasure I 
anticipated in tanning that fellow’s hide.” 

Brother Stephen tapped lightly on the door 
casing, and announced the Sabbath evening meal. 


CHAPTER VI 

Farewell to the Brotherhood 

following Thursday morning dawned 
bright and clear, giving promise of a beauti- 
ful day. Very early a column of smoke ascended 
from the broad chimney of the “Retreat,” and 
soon the appetizing odor of coffee and fried bacon 
stole through the building. The breakfast was 
served long before the usual hour, for Howard 
Kornell and Beatrice were to leave for the little 

town of W , and the tramp over the mountain 

and across the valley would be long and tiresome. 

At seven o’clock the party, consisting of How- 
ard Kornell, Brother Paul and Beatrice, left the 
“Retreat” and started on their journey over the 
mountain. 

Kornell wore a suit of grey tweeds, belonging 
to Brother Paul; the latter gentleman was attired 
in black, but Beatrice, through necessity, was 
gowned in the brown cassock. 

The men were very solicitous concerning 
Beatrice and helped or lifted her, as the case re- 
quired, over the rough places. Although the j our- 
ney was tedious, the girl’s steps never lagged. She 
easily kept pace with her companions, for this 
ordeal meant freedom, and she would have imder- 
77 


78 


In a Monk's Cassock 


gone greater hardships than this to be out in the 
great wide world again. 

At nine o’clock they started their tramp across 
the valley. The ground was wet and in many 
places pools of muddy water were to be seen. It 
was not many minutes until Beatrice’s feet were 
soaked, but she went on unmindful of their con- 
dition. The men were better protected, as they 
wore the high-top boots. 

As the trio were about to leave the valley, they 
encountered a strip of deep mud which extended 
as far as they could see in both directions and was 
about thirty feet across. 

The travelers came to an abrupt standstill. 
Kornell was the first to recover from this shock. 

“This is an interesting state of affairs. All the 
mud in the universe seems to have collected in this 
one place.” He turned and looked about. “Not 
a plank or a stone one might use in passing over. 
A tree couldn’t have conveniently fallen across 
there to help us out. What are we to do?” He 
looked from Beatrice to Brother Paul. As no 
answer, but looks of disgust and disappointment 
came to his query, he turned about and gazed at 
the strip of mud. 

Beatrice stepped to his side and timidly placed 
a hand on his arm and said: 

“If you and Brother Paul are not afraid to 
cross over, I am not. I dare attempt it if you do.” 


Faeewell to the Brotherhood 79 

Kornell looked into her eager face. 

“We dare attempt it, but you shall not walk 
across. Here, Brother Paul,” he turned to the 
man who stood silently behind them, “we will 
carry the lady.” He directed Paul to cross hands 
with him and form a seat. 

“Beatrice, we will carry you across. Be seated, 
please.” 

“I should prefer to walk.” 

“That is entirely out of the question. Be 
seated.” He looked stern. She had no other 
choice but to do his bidding. 

They bent low and when Beatrice was seated 
upon their hands, they straightened up and raised 
her clear off the ground. She looked at Paul then 
at Kornell. The ridiculous picture she knew she 
presented caused her to banish sober thoughts and 
her silvery laughter rang out. Kornell assumed 
surprise — even disgust — at her merriment. 

“What can you see to laugh at?” he asked. 

“The ridiculous position I occupy.” 

“The position you occupy is far better than 
plowing through this mud.” 

Their progress was slow, for their burden was 
not a light one and they sank ankle-deep into the 
mud. 

When Kornell and Paul reached solid ground, 
they lowered Beatrice to her feet and the trio soon 
found the road leading to W . 


80 


In a Money’s Cassock 


Another hour’s steady walk brought them in 
sight of the town. They hurried on and sought 
out the only hotel the place afforded. 

Beatrice’s queer garb occasioned not a few rude 
stares as she walked along the village street. She 
gladly welcomed the sheltering walls of the small 
hotel. Kornell took her to the sitting room. He 
found the place warm and stuffy and proceeded 
immediately to open the windows and lowered 
the shades to exclude the brilliant sunshine, which 
streamed across the much worn and faded carpet. 
Two or three rocking chairs stood about. Howard 
chose the most comfortable looking one from the 
number and bade Beatrice be seated. 

‘T know you are frightfully tired and hungry. 
I will order a lunch for you, for it will be an hour 
or more before those people get their dinner ready, 
and you look very much in need of something to 
eat.” 

He left her and found the very obliging land- 
lord who went at his request into the kitchen and 
ordered a cup of coffee, a sandwich and a dough- 
nut. Kornell carried the lunch to Beatrice. 

“This will tide you over until dinner time. Now 
if you will tell me what you wish to have done, I 
shall execute your orders at once.” 

“I have been thinking of what I shall have to 
purchase, for, of course, I cannot continue my 


Farewell to the Brotherhood 81 


journey in this array. But I haven’t — haven’t — 
a cent.” She colored painfully. 

“But you know that you can command me to 
the extent of half of my fortune.” 

“I shall not need much. I’ll be very moderate 
in my purchasing.” 

“ S uit yourself. N ow tell me what you want me 
to do.” 

“I do not want to go on the street again in this 
condition, and I have been thinking that perhaps 
you would go to some dry goods store and send 
a lady clerk here to take my order.” 

“Gladly. But is that all you want me to do ?” 

“That will be all, I think.” 

“Very well, you may expect some one up di- 
rectly.” 

He left her and inquired of the landlord where 
he might find the best dry goods store. Mr. 
Jameson directed him to the only store in town 
carrying general merchandise, one block from the 
hotel. Then he and Paul started out on the round 
of errands. 

First they went to the dry goods store, and 
Howard Kornell asked the clerk who came for- 
ward if she would kindly call the proprietor. The 
salesgirl disappeared through a door in the rear 
of the building. In a moment she returned fol- 
lowed by a short, thin man, with light hair, watery 
blue eyes, and an extremely large nose. Kornell 


82 In a Monk's Cassock 

looked down upon him from his superior height, 
and asked: 

“You are the proprietor of this establishment, 
are you not?’’ 

“Yes, sir; I am.” 

“I wish to ask a favor of you. I will explain 
matters briefly first. We were caught in that 
flood that swept through here two weeks ago. My 
wife lost her trunks and the dress she wore was 
completely ruined. W e cannot continue our j our- 
ney to New York until she has a respectable 
gown. Now, will you kindly send your clerk up 
to the hotel and get her order as quickly as pos- 
sible?” 

“I will see to it at once,” said the merchant. He 
called the clerk forward and directed her to go to 
the hotel to get the lady’s order. 

Kornell and Brother Paul left the store and 
proceeded to the depot, where they inquired the 
time of the departure of the next train for Phila- 
delphia. The station agent informed them that 
it left at three o’clock sharp. Kornell sent two 
messages to New York — one to Beatrice’s cousin, 
Emily, stating that Beatrice would arrive home 
on the following day. The other was to his moth- 
er, informing her of his safety and that he was on 
his way home. He then endeavored to find a 
suit of clothes for himself, but all to no avail. 


Farewell to the Brotherhood 83 

The suits were either too small or decidedly the 
wrong color. He finally gave it up as a bad j ob. 

‘‘Let it go, Kornell,’’ said Paul. Keep the suit 
you have on. I give it to you as a souvenir, and 
may it bring kind thoughts of me.” 

“Thank you, Paul. I am forced to accept your 
generous offer, and don’t worry about me ever 
forgetting you. The little ofiice you performed 
up there at the ‘Retreat’ has won a warm place 
for you in my life.” 

“I am mightily glad to hear this from you, 
Kornell. Now, is there anything more for us to 
look after?” 

“I think not. Perhaps we had best return to 
the hotel.” 

“Yes, I want to bid Mrs. Kornell goodbye. 
Then I shall start on my return journey, for I 
wish to reach the ‘Retreat’ before sundown.” 

“Very well; to the hotel it is, then.” 

When they entered the little hotel sitting room 
they found Beatrice very busy. She looked up 
quickly as they entered and greeted them with a 
winning smile. Both men noticed that the heavy 
brown braid which had hung over her shoulder 
since she had entered the “Retreat” was now 
deftly dressed low at the back of the head in a 
large knot and several puffs. She let her work 
slip from her hands as she rose to greet them. 

“You see I have been busy at work.” 


84 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


“Don’t put aside your work for me, Mrs. Kor- 
nell. I just came in for one moment to bid you 
goodbye.” 

Beatrice’s face turned rosy-red when Paul ad- 
dressed her thus, but she placed her hand in his. 

“I am very glad, Mrs. Kornell, to have had you 
in our midst — ^to have had the pleasure of becom- 
ing acquainted with you, although it was under 
such exciting circumstances. And now I must 
bid you farewell.” 

“Goodbye, Brother Paul, and thank you for all 
your kindness toward me while at the ‘Retreat.’ ” 

Paul left the room. Kornell followed, and 
walked to the outskirts of the village with him, 
then bade him goodbye, and returned to the hotel. 

When he returned to the sitting room, he found 
Beatrice cutting and snipping away at a silk suit 
of black and white check. 

“You evidently fared better than I did. I see 
you found a gown,” said Kornell. 

“Yes, it was a streak of luck. Happens to fit 
me nicely, but it is spoiled by this red piping, and 
I am trying to cut it away. I am not a lover of 
red.” 

“It will take you quite a while. Let me help 
you.” 

“If you will be careful not to cut the gown, you 
may help me.” 

A few moments later he was busy at work on 


Farewell to the Brotherhood 85 

the gown. He noticed that Beatrice’s eyes twink- 
led with merriment. 

“You seem to be amused.” 

“I am.” 

“I refuse to work another instant if you make 
sport of me.” 

“I would not think of doing that. But may I 
not smile when I see you employed as you are? 
For I never could imagine you as — as — .” 

“Interested in woman and her affairs, eh ? You 
have always thought of me as a confirmed bach- 
elor, with mind for nothing but my numerous coal 
mines and the wealth derived from them. Please 
give a man credit for being able to tear away from 
the sordid things of life and adapting himself to 
circumstances or helping a very charming woman 
out of a difficulty.” After a moment’s thought 
he continued : “This gown is pretty, but I rather 
like the cassock best. You will keep it, will you 
not? I should like the idea of your doing so.” 

“What should I ever do with it?” 

“I might want to see you wear it some time in 
the future. That robe has made a great impres- 
sion on me.” 

“We are not to think of the future.” 

“But it is a privilege we all have.” 

To Beatrice’s great relief, there came the call 
for dinner. She accompanied her husband to the 
dining room. They were seated at a small table 


86 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


by themselves. The dinner was a tempting one, 
and was relished exceedingly by the hungry trav- 
elers. When the meal was eaten they returned 
to the sitting room and completed the cutting 
away of the red piping. A moment later Kornell 
left her and went to the dry goods store, settled 
the account there, thence to the depot to purchase 
the tickets to Philadelphia. 


CHAPTER VII 
Homeward Bound 

^HEN Howard Kornell returned to the 
hotel he found Beatrice awaiting him, 
gowned in the traveling suit his money had paid 
for. A feeling of pride and ownership passed 
over him. But he was very careful not to let his 
feelings show in his face. 

• “You are ready for the home trip, are you?’* 
he asked. 

“Yes, at last. Oh! it seemed as though this 
time would never come. I will be the happiest 
girl on earth when I shall have entered the dear 
old home. You do not appear so elated, but seem 
very sober.” 

“Because I know what this journey means. The 
sweet life we led up there at the ‘Retreat’ is at an 
end, and by your own decree we are to go each our 
separate ways. I was in hopes that during those 
days you would learn to think differently of me.” 

“My feelings have not changed, save that my 
estimation of your manliness and honor has been 
steadily on the rise.” She saw the disappoint- 
ment come into his face. She turned away 
wearily. 

“I will not press the subject further, do not 
87 


88 


In a Monk^'s Cassock 


fear. It is nearly time for our train. I think we 
had best go to the depot.” 

“I wish I might stay over until the next train, 
I fear we will come across someone who knows 
us.” 

“There is hardly any danger of that. At least 
we wiU risk it.” 

They went to the depot and had been there but 
a few moments when the train came thundering 
in. They entered the parlor car and made them- 
selves comfortable for the trip to Philadelphia. 

At six o’clock Beatrice and Kornell went into 
the diner for their supper. Up to this time the 
trip had been uneventful. 

Before they were through with the meal, 
Beatrice was attracted by the watchful gaze of 
a man across the aisle and two tables back. Then 
he looked at Kornell, whose back was toward 
him. Beatrice spoke to Kornell regarding the 
stranger. “There is a man at one of the tables 
back of us whom I feel quite sure knows you. 
What shall we do? I knew it would end this 
way?” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll see that you are not an- 
noyed.” 

Almost at that instant the stranger rose from 
his place at the table, and to Beatrice’s horror 
came toward them, and slapping a familiar hand 
on her companion’s shoulder, exclaimed: 


Homeward Bound 


89 


“Kornell, old man, how are you? It is a dick- 
ens of a time since I saw you.” 

Howard rose to greet him. 

“How are you Crawford? This is a surprise.” 

“Perhaps I wasn’t surprised to see you, for I 
heard that you had perished in that flood,” he 
finished, glancing toward Beatrice. 

Kornell hastened to relieve the girl of this em- 
barrassing position. He put a hand on Craw- 
ford’s shoulder and gently pushed him toward 
the door, saying: 

“Go into the smoker and I will follow you di- 
rectly.” 

Mr. Crawford left them and Howard returned 
to the table. When they had finished their sup- 
per, they returned to the parlor car. Howard 
made Beatrice comfortable, gave her two or three 
of the late magazines, excused himself and sought 
his friend. 

Mr. Crawford was waiting for him. As soon 
as they were seated, he said : 

“Kornell, I always heard that your sister was 
a beauty, but I had no idea that she was so beauti- 
ful. I will tell you candidly, that I have fallen 
heels over head in love with her, and I want to 
meet her.” 

Kornell looked rather sober. 

“See here, my man, not so fast, please. You 
say you have fallen in love with her?” 


90 


In a Moneys Cassock 


‘‘The moment I saw her.” 

“Then you are doomed to a great disappoint- 
ment. I shall have to let you in on a little secret. 
No one knows it aside from the interested parties 
but myself. You must not lisp a word about it — 
she is already engaged.” 

“You don’t mean it! Are you telling me the 
truth?” 

“That I am, my man.” 

“I want to meet her just the same. Will you 
take me in there?” 

“In a moment. I’ll send in word that you want 
to meet her.” 

Kornell pulled a card from his pocket and 
wrote this message : 

“Beatrice: Tom Crawford wants to meet you. 
He imagines you are Ethel. Let him think so. 
If it comes right, call me ‘Howard.’ ” 

He rang for the porter and sent the card in to 
Beatrice. In a few moments they were in her 
presence. 

“Beatrice,” said Kornell, “this is my friend 
Thomas Crawford.” 

She greeted Crawford charmingly and con- 
versed with both men with an easy manner. Once 
it was necessary for her to address Kornell by 
name. She didn’t quite know whether he meant 
it to be so or not. At any rate she was compelled 
to say ‘Howard.’ She stumbled slightly over the 


Homeward Bound 


91 


name and a rosy flush mounted to her cheeks. 
Both men noticed her confusion. Crawford 
thought: ‘‘If she can speak her brother’s name 
so charmingly how would she speak that of a 
man she loved.” 

He left them soon after for his destination was 
the next station. 

When they reached Philadelphia, Beatrice 
plead most earnestly for Kornell to allow her to 
continue the journey to New York alone. “We 
are too near home. We must not risk going 
another mile together.” 

“You know that I shall not allow you to go 
from my watchful care. But if you wish me to, 
I will ride in another coach.” 

“Or sit at the other end of the car, and don’t 
pay any attention to me.” 

Howard Kornell reluctantly took himself to 
a far end of the car, and remained there until 
they reached New York. Even then, he watched 
over her until she entered her own home. Then 
he went to his mother and sister, who were anx- 
iously watching for him. They greeted him joy- 
fully. For days they had mourned him as lost. 
Felix had given them a graphic account of the 
flood and efforts to save every passenger on board 
the train. After getting the very large woman 
and her babe to the station with the rest of the 
party, he had returned to the bridge and found 


92 


In a Monk's Cassock 


that the farther section of the structure was gone, 
and Kornell and a lady passenger, whom he tried 
to save, had disappeared. Therefore, he thought 
they had perished. And as the days glided into 
weeks and no word came from Howard, they felt 
sure that he had lost his life in that wild river. 
Their joy knew no bounds when they received his 
telegram, announcing his safety. When the ex- 
citement occasioned by his return had subsided 
he told them briefly of his stay at a mountain home 
he had been fortunate enough to stumble onto. 

“What about the woman, Howard?” asked 
Ethel. “Felix said you were trying to save a 
woman.” 

“And I did save her.” 

“Did she stay at the same mountain home?” 

“She did.” 

“Suppose you became real well acquainted with 
her?” 

“Enough so, that should I ever meet her again 
I should know her.” 

“Was she nice looking?” 

“Beautiful.” 

“Howard ! have — did you fall in love with her?” 

“My sister is not content with being a mere 
match-maker, but must add that of mother- con- 
fessor to her acquirements. And as I am in no 
mood to confess, I shall take myself off to bed. 
Good night, little busy-body,” he said, pressing 


Homeward Bound 


93 


her face between his hands and kissing her tend- 
erly. “Don’t worry any more about the woman.” 
Then he caressed his mother and went to his 
room for a much needed rest. He had not slept 
a night through while at the “Retreat,” but kept 
a faithful watch over Beatrice’s door till nearly 
dawn, when he would lie down and sleep until 
6:30. The first two nights he paced back and 
forth along the hall. After that he sat in his 
room with the door wide open. He spent the 
long hours reading. And now the man was 
indeed weary. The luxury of sleeping in his own 
bed would be a rare treat. He was soon lost in 
a heavy slumber. 


CHAPTER VIII 
A Night at the Opera 

N the 14th of April, Beatrice received an in- 
vitation from the elder Mrs. Kornell to 
accompany herself and daughter to the opera. 

“There will be just you, Ethel and myself in 
the party. Come early and dine with us. We 
want a long visit, for we haven’t seen you since 
you returned from your trip to Chicago. Do 
not fail us.” 

At 5 o’clock Beatrice arrived at the Kornell 
home. It seemed strange to go there after all 
that had taken place. At first she felt ill at ease 
in the presence of Howard’s mother and sister. 
But this uneasiness gradually wore away, and by 
the time they entered their box at the opera she 
was her usual animated self. 

True to her word, Mrs. Kornell invited no 
other guests. 

Beatrice was passionately fond of music. Soon 
she was lost to her surroundings. 

Toward the close of the opera, she became an- 
noyed at some one sitting at her left, who ner- 
vously beat a tattoo on his opera glass. Un- 
consciously she put out her hand and touched 
that of the man at her side. This had the de- 
94 


A Night at the Opera 


95 


sired effect. The offender laid aside the glass, 
folded his arms across his broad chest and watched 
her intently. 

He knew that she was entirely oblivious of his 
presence there, and that she would not remember 
having been annoyed by him, she was so enrap- 
tured. 

When the curtain rang down on the last act, 
she rose with the rest, and turning to Mrs. Kor- 
nell was about to express her delight over the per- 
formance when Mrs. Kornell said: 

“Beatrice, I want you to meet my son. How- 
ard, this is Miss Jewell.” She watched them 
closely. To all appearances they were perfect 
strangers, meeting for the first time. 

Beatrice placed her hand in KornelFs and 
smiled up into his face. If he held her hand a mo- 
ment longer than was necessary, it only pleased his 
mother and sister. For they had planned for 
years to bring this meeting about?” 

Kornell said: “I am very happy to meet you 
here this evening. It is a pleasure I had not an- 
ticipated.” 

Beatrice looked at him quickly. He felt that 
she thought he was telling a falsehood. He de- 
termined to set things right at the first possible 
moment. He released her hand, stepped aside 
and let the ladies pass, then followed them out of 
the building and helped them into the carriage. 


96 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


He placed his mother and Beatrice on the rear 
seat; he and Ethel occupied the front one facing 
them. This gave him the opportunity of looking 
at Beatrice for the light flashed brightly upon her 
as they passed rapidly along the thoroughfare. 
She wore a wrap of rare old lace over heavy silk 
of deep cream and a filmy scarf of the same tone 
was tied loosely about her head. Kornell thought 
he never before saw her so beautiful. 

He had ordered the coachman to drive directly 
home. Mrs. Kornell was somewhat surprised 
when the carriage stopped before her own door. 

“Mother,’’ said Kornell, “I know you intended 
taking your friend home, but I shall relieve you 
of that necessity.” 

He assisted his mother and sister to alight and 
accompanied them to the door, then returned to 
the carriage, seated himself beside Beatrice and 
ordered the coachman to drive to the Jewell home. 
He reached over and gathered one of Beatrice’s 
hands into both of his and held it firmly, for it 
trembled slightly. After a moment, he spoke to 
her: 

“You carried your part beautifully this even- 
ing when we met. But, Beatrice, how could you 
be so deceitful?” 

She tried to draw away her hand, but he held it 
firmly. 


A Night at the Opera 


97 


“It is I who should bring you to account, for 
you knew positively that I did not want to meet 
you before — quite — so soon.” 

“I fully understand that. And furthermore I 
know that you would far rather I were not here. 
But I want to square myself. I suppose you 
think that I had a hand in what took place a half 
hour ago. I swear most solemnly that I had 
nothing to do with it. It was all mother’s doing. 
She was bound that we should meet, and planned 
the little affair to suit herself. She knew that I 
would get home this evening, for I sent a telegram 
to her this forenoon to that effect. When I en- 
tered my room I found a note lying on my dress- 
ing table, stating that I should not fail to join 
her party before the close of the opera. I am sorry 
to have to say this about mother, but I am de- 
termined that you shall know the truth. Now, 
what are you going to do about it?” 

“I shall have to forgive her, I presume.” 

“I wish you would. For she has our welfare at 
heart. She really believes that we would make an 
ideal couple. But what hurts me is this : that 
which she most wishes for has come to pass, and 
she must not know of it.” 

“But it is not as she would have it. She feels 
as I do about — ^marriage. Therefore, your mother 
must be kept in ignorance of what happened. You 
must, and will in time, I feel sure, see it as I do. 


98 In a Monk's Cassock 

Let us not talk about it. It is very distasteful 
to me.” 

Kornell was very anxious to please her, and 
put away the subject which began to weigh heavier 
with him as the days slipped by. Beatrice had a 
knack of drawing him from the land of forbidden 
joy. He leaned back and listened attentively 
while she narrated to him the surprise and joy 
occasioned by her return home after so many days 
of silence. 

“I wonder,” said Kornell, “if you had the same 
questions put to you, that I ran up against?” 

“I had to do considerable sparring. It would 
have amused you no doubt, had you heard it.” 

They had stopped before the Jewell home. 

“Our little visit is at an end, for this time,” 
said Kornell, which meant very plainly that an- 
other should follow when he chose, and that he 
was master of the situation. His very tone and 
manner bespoke that, and caused Beatrice to feel 
that the firm foundation she had builded beneath 
her citadel of defense was trembling under the 
weight it supported and would ere long give way 
completely and go crashing to the four winds of 
defiance. She lifted her head proudly as Howard 
Kornell helped her from the carriage, and walked 
majestically beside him to the outer door of her 
residence. She meant that he should be awed by 
her bearing, that he should be brought to realize 


A Night at the Opeea 


99 


that she, too, had a will and that he must banish 
every thought of another meeting. 

Howard saw her safely within her home, and 
as he raised her hand to his lips he looked straight 
into her eyes. She turned away quickly for the 
bright glare from the hall lamp showed his face 
illuminated by a light never before seen there. 
She drew her hand away, frightened, for she did 
not fully realize the meaning that flashed from the 
depths of those dark gray eyes. She felt that he 
meant to have his way, whether consistent or not. 
He saw her startled look and hastened to reas- 
sure her. 

“Please do not be afraid in my presence. You 
were not, back there at the ‘Retreat.’ Here you 
have less need to be so. Beatrice” — he lingered 
a trifle over her name — “Good-night.” He turned 
and left her; entered his carriage and returned 
home. 


CHAPTER IX 
In the Studio 

HE balmy breeze of May-day wafted 



through the open windows of Beatrice’s 
studio and caught the perfume from a large 
bouquet of American Beauty roses and lilies of 
the valley and carried a sweet message to the 
young artist who sat on a divan under an ori- 
ental canopy, caressing the dimpled hand of a wee 
child. The rare odor from the flowers caused a 
pink flush to overspread Beatrice’s face, as did the 
blossoms themselves, when they arrived earlier 
in the day by a special messenger. Just a small 
white card bearing the initials H. K., written in 
a masculine hand, accompanied them. Since their 
arrival Howard Kornell had dwelt more or less 
in Beatrice’s mind. The breeze, perfume and 
beautiful sunshine had woven a spell about her, 
and she had slipped from the present and looked 
away to the future. Lost completely in thought, 
she was entirely unaware that some one had en- 
tered the studio. The intruder stood entranced 
before the picture that confronted him. The rich 
oriental draperies of canopy and divan, the many 
sofa pillows of deep-toned colors formed an ef- 


100 


In the Studio 


101 


fective surrounding and enhanced the beauty of 
the woman and child he looked upon. 

Beatrice was arrayed in a gown of old rose lace 
over ivory satin, yellowed with age. The full 
skirt lay in soft billows about her and the low 
bodice and short puffed sleeves showed to ad- 
vantage her plump white neck, shoulders and 
arms. 

She leaned caressingly over the infant clothed 
in spotless white who lay close beside her on the 
divan. Suddenly she felt KornelFs presence, and, 
looking up, beheld him in silent adoration before 
her. She did not seem surprised, neither was she 
angry, as he had anticipated, but greeted him with 
rather a wistful smile. She did not attempt to 
rise, but Howard took a step or two nearer, and 
said: 

“Pardon me, Beatrice, for having entered your 
presence unannounced. But I rapped several 
times and was about to leave, when Mrs. Winter 
opened the door and bade me enter, for ‘she knew 
you were in here.’ ” 

Beatrice pushed back one or two sofa pillows, 
and made room for him beside her. For the time 
being she forgot that he was other than a very dear 
friend, and was truly glad to see him. 

With an air of being perfectly at home, How- 
ard availed himself of the proffered seat and lean- 


102 In a Monk^s Cassock 

ing toward her, looked across at the child and 
asked : 

“Where did you find that little one?” 

“This wee laddie was brought here by his 
mother, who is a very dear friend of mine. She 
begged of me to care for him until she returned. 
She had received a message stating that her hus- 
band had been seriously hurt in an automobile 
wreck, and was hurried to an hospital — I have 
forgotten which one, I was so excited. Beth’s 
nurse-maid was off for the afternoon and she felt 
she could trust her son to my care and brought 
him just as I arrived from M studio.” 

“What were you thinking about so seriously 
when I came into the room? What did you see 
in that little fellow’s face?” 

“I was thinking of his future; wondering what 
sort of a man he would be if he grew to man- 
hood.” 

“It seems a pity, doesn’t it, that such a pure, 
beautiful child should grow up to be a great, 
coarse man? But we will hope that he will be a 
good fellow.” 

“That is what I most fervently wished for. I 
even prayed that he would become the true, honor- 
able man you have proven to be.” 

Unconsciously she had set him up as a standard 
of par excellence, and a great wave of joy passed 


In the Studio 


103 


over Kornell when he heard her words of praise, 
but he modestly said : 

“Thank you, Beatrice. It is worth any effort 
to be such, just to hear those words from you. 
N ow allow me to tell you something.’' He looked 
with beaming eyes upon her. “You are very 
beautiful today. I shall never forget the pic- 
ture that confronted me when I came into this 
room. Arrayed as you are my first thought was 
that you had stepped from one of those large gilt 
frames which adorn the walls of our ancestral 
halls.” 

“I shall have to apologize for receiving you in 
this gown. But I really had no time to change it 
for one more appropriate. You see I did not ex- 
pect you. In fact, I expected no one this after- 
noon.” 

“You have no need to apologize, for I think it 
a very beautiful gown, and an extremely becom- 
ing one. But if I mistake not, it was made some 
decades ago.” 

A tender expression came to Beatrice’s face 
as she gathered up a fold of the rich lace skirt 
and pressed it lovingly between her soft palms, 
and said in a low sweet voice: 

“This was my mother’s bridal array. And this 
is the first time I have worn it. I had always 
thought that when — if I were to — should I ever 
marry, it would be my wedding gown also. That 


104 


In a Monk^’s Cassock 


was mother’s wish, and to that end this beautiful 
mass of lace and satin has been guarded and cher- 
ished all these years. I would not have thought 
of donning it, even now, but to please my father. 
I am posing in it for my portrait. He says I am 
the image of my mother at the time of her mar- 
riage.” 

“I am glad that I came unexpectedly, else I 
should have missed seeing you thus. Perhaps — .” 
He rose and walked leisurelly about the studio, 
for he dared not trust himself to say more. He 
looked intently at the pictures hanging on the 
walls. He recognized many foreign scenes. 

“I see,” he said, “that you paint scenery as well 
as miniatures. You have some very beautiful 
sunsets here.” 

“I have a passion for sunsets and I have gone 
to a great deal of trouble and inconvenience to see 
a beautiful sunrise. On every trip to Europe I 
visited M , in Switzerland, and rise at an un- 

earthly hour to witness old Saul rise majestically 
over those mountains. And in Italy — Oh! those 
beautiful varying tints at break of day — ^you have 
seen them, I need not describe them to you, they 
beggar description. To me Italy is the land of 
dreams. Father and I have a wee place way up 
on a hillside, about two miles out of C over- 
looking the pretty lake of L . The terraces 

are smooth and green and the roses are in per- 


In the Studio 


105 


petual bloom. It is there that I can dream to my 
heart’s content, dream — pictures, that can never 
be put on canvas, so extravagant are they.” 

Kornell had turned at her first utterance and 
listened attentively to her. When she had fin- 
ished he returned to the seat beside her and said: 

“Beatrice, we have been soaring for some time. 
Let us become practical. 'No doubt you wonder 
how I could have had the effrontery to come here, 
knowing that to please you I should stay away.” 

“I hadn’t thought of it, but now that you men- 
tion it, I do marvel at your daring.” She glanced 
at him roguishly. Kornell laughed softly and 
took possession of her left hand. He pushed the 
jewelled rings away from the half -hoop of dia- 
monds which she had loaned him to place on her 
finger as a wedding ring. He became very sober, 
and looked into her face. She met his eyes fear- 
lessly, but her cheeks were suffused with blushes. 
Kornell slipped the rings back to their place and 
said: 

“This may be the last time I shall ever call upon 
you.” He watched her closely but she gave no 
hint of surprise. “I have found that I must have 
a diversion, must get away for a while. I have 
decided to visit South America. My stay will be 
of several months’ duration, and whether I return 
alive or not will depend greatly upon the endur- 
ance of my constitution. I am going to a fever- 


106 


In a Monk's Cassock 


invested district. Rarely, if ever, does a man 
return alive who goes there from this climate at 
this time of the year. I have conferred with my 
lawyer and arranged all my affairs so that if I 
should fall a victim to the disease, you will, as 
my wife, control my property.” 

Beatrice quickly rose from her place beside 
him and walked half the length of the studio; 
turned, came back and stood before him, white and 
angry. < 

“You have been to a lawyer! You have dared 
to tell him — 1” 

Kornell rose, gathered her hands into his 
against her will, and looked calmly and master- 
fully into her eyes, saying, with emphasis : 

“Beatrice, this is pure nonsense. Calm your- 
self immediately. I have done nothing to so ex- 
cite your anger. It is my duty to look after you ; 
that you cannot keep me from doing.” 

“But you promised me back there at the ‘Re- 
treat’ that you would tell no man of that event, 
and now your lawj^er knows, soon your mother 
will know, then everyone will know.” 

“I hope so,” Kornell breathed to himself, but 
aloud he said : 

“My lawyer is most solemnly sworn to com- 
plete silence. One word from him, and he loses 
my patronage. That he knows. But he is a man 
of honor, and I trust him fulh^ I have employed 


In THE Studio 


lor 

him for years, and not once has he betrayed my 
confidence. Now we will sit down and talk over 
seriously this affair which seems to be such a bug- 
bear to you. Be careful not to wake that young 
fellow there 

“I wish he were with his mother.” 

“I thought you adored children.” 

“I do. But what if he should wake and become 
cross?” 

“We would call Mrs. Winter and intrust him 
to her keeping. Beatrice — pay attention to me, 
please — do you still insist upon our present ex- 
istence?” 

“I certainly do.” She avoided looking at him. 

“Is there no chance of your changing your 
mind?” 

“None whatever.” 

“You don’t think that the time will ever come 
when you would long for some one to care for you, 
watch over you and love you?” 

“That time will not come. I am ‘sufficient 
unto self.’ ” 

“At the present time, perhaps, but what about 
the future?” 

“We will let the future take care of itself. ‘Suf- 
ficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’ ” 

“You are so devoid of sentiment that you will 
never allow love for a man to enter your heart?” 

“No not that, for I do dearly love my father 


108 


In a Monk's Cassock 


and I have no thought apart from him and my 
beloved art.” 

‘‘But you will not always have your father, 
and your art will in time lose its charm. The day 
will come when this firm, soft hand will become 
unsteady, and your pictures will prove a failure. 
Then, I fear, you will regret having taken so 
firm a stand for single blessedness, and your heart 
will cry out in its loneliness.” 

“I cannot see it as you do. You know what 
my views are regarding our situation. There 
must be no sacrifice placed upon the altar of 
imaginary duty. If you still insist on the matter 
resting as it is I abide by your will. But I would 
far rather you look at it as I do and dismiss 
the whole affair as null and void. As for myself, 
I shall never bother about it. But you — some day 
you might find someone whom you cared for. 
Then you would be glad that you were free.” 

“But I do not consider that I am free, or that 
I shall ever be free, while life lasts. To me, that 
marriage ceremony was binding, and most sacred. 
I am in duty bound to live true to those bonds.” 
A strange tremor in his voice caused her to look 
into his face. He was surprised in turn to find 
her eyes dimmed with tears. She said brokenly: 

“I pray you would do as I wish in this matter, 
for it would nearly kill me if I were to know that 
some time in the future I stood as a barrier be- 


In THE Studio 


109 


tween you and happiness. To me, the saddest 
thing in this world is for a man or a woman who 
is tied to some one who is not, or never could be, 
a congenial mate, where there is no affection, 
simply friendship and a mere tolerance of their 
presence, then some day — oh ! the pity of it — some 
day they look into the eyes of one whose glance 
changes this old world into a perfect Eden. If 
this were to come to you, what would be my por- 
tion were I to allow you to win me to your way of 
thinking, that it is your honorable duty that you 
are striving to live up to, not that your heart is 
really in it. I could not accept such a sacrifice, 
even though I cared for you with my whole soul.” 

“Beatrice, you are as hard as flint. Some day 
you will see the folly of your decision, and will 
want to rectify it. When that day comes, will 
you put aside all reserve and send for me? Re- 
member, I shall come to you, even from the very 
ends of the earth.” 

“Because you thought it your duty to do so.” 

“No! Duty has nothing to do with it.” His 
face was white and stern, and it seemed to Beatrice 
that a fire smoldered in the depths of his gray eyes. 
“Answer me. Will you send for me, when you 
find that you want me?” 

Simply and unaffectedly she answered : 

“Should that day come, I will send word to 
you. But do not look for it.” 


110 


In a Monk's Cassock 


“I fully realize that I need not look for it if 
you take time to consider. But if you should send 
me word I shall know that you did it in an un- 
guarded moment. Now I must leave you, for I 
have overstayed the time allowed for the first call. 
Bless that little fellow for having the grace to 
sleep the whole time that I have been here.’’ Kor- 
nell looked kindly upon the child. “I had your 
undivided attention.” 

‘‘When will you start for South America?” 
asked Beatrice, ignoring his allusion to the child. 

“Tomorrow morning. I will not see you until 
my return.” He clasped her hands, and bending 
over them, pressed a kiss on the back of each. 
“Goodbye, Beatrice,” he said, looking long and 
earnestly into her eyes, then unclasped her hands 
and left her. 

When Beatrice realized that Howard had gone, 
that she was alone in her studio, which a few 
moments ago was bright and filled with a genial, 
lovable personality and was now extremely void 
of charm, she went to the window, and unseen 
by anyone, watched the tall, broad and erect form 
of Kornell until he disappeared around a corner, 
nearly a block further down the avenue. 


CHAPTER X 


VARIED EMOTIONS 



HROUGH the summer months that fol- 


lowed, Beatrice worked unremittingly. If 
Howard KornelFs handsome face came between 
her and the task she was intent upon, she brushed 
her eyes gently and strove to banish the thought 
of him. Several times she had exchanged visits 
with his mother and sister. Never once did she 
ask concerning him, but Mrs. Kornell and Ethel 
took particular pains to keep her informed re- 
garding his travels. 

On the afternoon of September 8rd, Ethel 
Kornell ran tearfully into Beatrice’s studio, and 
throwing herself into the arms of the young artist, 
cried out : 

“Beatrice, we have just received the most ter- 
rible news I I am nearly distracted over it. 
Howard has been stricken with that dreadful 
fever, and is being brought home in his private 
car, attended by two trained nurses and a phy- 
sician.” Ethel dried her eyes and looked wistfully 
and appealingly at Beatrice. “Why don’t you 
say something, or don’t you care?” 

“I feel very sorry, but what can I say?” 


Ill 


112 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


“I came to you for solace. Can’t you give me 
a word of cheer?” 

“Dear, we do not know how ill your brother 
may be. And until we find out, do not grieve 
so. He may not be so ill as you imagine.” 

“Oh! he is very sick, that I know. His phy- 
sician sent the message, and when a man needs 
two trained nurses — oho-o — .” She broke off 
into a wailing sob. 

“Ethel, calm yourself. This will never do. 
You must be strong for his sake.” 

“I wish I were like you.” Ethel looked into 
Beatrice’s face. “Why, there isn’t a tear in your 
eyes, and I thought you would sympathize with 
me.” 

“One can sympathize with a friend without call- 
ing forth tears to demonstrate the fact. My dear, 
I feel as badly about this as you could possibly 
wish me to. But I can do nothing to restore your 
brother’s health. He probably wouldn’t thank 
me for even feeling the least bit concerned about 
his welfare.” 

“I think he would, for he admires you greatly. 
He even said that he — .” 

“Never mind, dear, I do not want to hear what 
he said.” 

“Will you be interested to know how he is 
when he arrives?” 

“Yes; I want you to inform me at once.” 


Varied Emotions 


118 


“Very well, I will send you a message as soon 
as I possibly can. We expect him tomorrow. 
Now I must go. I left poor mother in care of 
aunty while I came out here to tell you about 
Howard. Goodbye, Beatrice.’’ 

“Goodbye, dear. Don’t forget to let me know 
at once, for I shall be waiting to hear from you.” 

Ethel hastened away, leaving Beatrice in a 
quandary as to what she had best do regarding 
the invalid. If he were so dreadfully ill, ought 
she to go to him and help care for him? Would 
he be pleased to find her near when he returned 
to consciousness? This last question caused her 
to decide quickly. She would not go near him, for 
he had never spoken one word that would have 
given her the right to do so. He had given liis 
willingness to proclaim her as his wife before the 
whole world, but not once had he uttered a word 
of affection, even given a hint that he cared the 
least for her other than a highly prized friend. 
He had been kind and gentle and had hinted at 
what the future might hold in store for them. But 
she felt that he did this more out of pity for her 
than for any sentiment he might cherish in the 
matter. 

The next afternoon shortly after three o’clock 
Beatrice received a telephone message from Ethel 
to the effect that Howard had arrived, accom- 
panied by his physician and nurses. He had been 


114 


In a Monk's Cassock 


taken at once to the emergency hospital, where 
everything that money and science could do was 
being done to save his life. “Of course, we are 
not allowed to see him,’’ said Ethel. “The nurse 
told me that his ravings are terrible.” She didn’t 
tell the young artist that the nurse had spoken of 
his talking about a flood, and of someone named 
Beatrice, but she finished her message by saying: 
“I will keep you informed as to Howard’s con- 
dition.” 

For days the same message came to Beatrice 
from Ethel, “Howard is no better.” This only 
served to keep Beatrice in an unsettled frame of 
mind and her work and spirits suffered thereby. 
Not once, of her own accord, did she seek to gain 
knowledge of his condition. Her stubborn pride 
forbade that. No one should know that she had 
the least interest concerning him. She did not 
know that Ethel guarded a very deep secret; 
did not know that the sister watched jealously 
every look that Howard bestowed upon Beatrice 
that night at the opera, and felt almost instantly 
that her brother had lost his heart to the lovely 
young artist. She had never before seen him look 
at any woman as he had looked at Beatrice, when 
she had placed her hand in his at the time of the 
introduction. Ethel resented Beatrice’s cool in- 
difference and decided to punish her. She called 
Beatrice up as usual on the 15th of the month 


Varied Emotions 


115 


and informed her as to KorneU’s state of health. 
“And now/’ she said, “this is the last time that I 
shall tell you anything concerning Howard. If 
you don’t care enough about your dearest friend 
to show more interest regarding the welfare of 
her only brother, I shall not take the trouble to 
keep you enlightened as to his condition. You 
can see that I am angry, and I am justified in 
being so. That you must admit. Of course, if 
it should come to the worst I will let you know. 
Goodbye.” 

Beatrice went back to her work, but it had lost 
its charm for her. She knew that she had sorely 
offended her friend by not seeming more inter- 
ested in the invalid’s welfare. She also knew that 
she would receive no more daily messages. 

The golden September days dragged slowly by 
and brought forth the last Sabbath of the month. 
Beatrice had intended to spend a quiet afternoon 
in the well equipped library of her home, and was 
cozily seated in a comfortable chair, and seemed 
day-dreaming rather than reading. Suddenly she 
was aroused by hurried talking in the hall. A 
moment later a message was brought to her, and 
with trembling fingers she broke the seal and 
read: 

^‘Beatrice : Come to our home at once. 

Ethel."' 

Beatrice was informed that the Kornell car- 


116 


In a Monk's Cassock 


riage was waiting for her. Without a moment’s 
delay she hastily prepared for the ride and was 
soon being driven rapidly to the Kornell home. 
Many misgivings assailed her as she rode along. 
She knew, of course, what to expect when she 
entered that stately mansion. But had she really 
done wrong in holding aloof? In her own esti- 
mation, no. 

Before she realized it, the dreaded moment had 
come, and the carriage had stopped before the 
door of Howard’s home. She alighted and went 
up the broad steps. The first thing to confront 
her was a large bouquet of spotless lilies which 
reposed in a tall vase at the side of the door. One 
glance at them and her face became pallid. She 
forced herself forward and entered the hall. 
Again she was confronted by flowers, flowers 
everywhere. For a moment Beatrice was over- 
whelmed, bewildered with the terrible thought 
that forced itself into her mind. Then slowly and 
majestically Ethel came toward her and with 
tears streaming down her cheeks, said: 

“Beatrice, I knew you would come. You could 
not have refused. Dear, he is in there.” Ethel 
pointed to the library door. “Go in and see him. 
I want you to.” 

Beatrice looked at the door, startled. Could 
she bring herself to go into that room? She felt 


Varied Emotions 


117 


that she could not. Ethel was determined that 
her friend should do her bidding. 

“Beatrice, you must go in and see him. It 
was for no light reason that I sent for you.” 

Beatrice walked slowly to the door and placed 
her hand on the knob. A flood of tenderness 
swept over her for the man who lay in the next 
room. Too late, of course. Why couldn’t she 
have felt this for him before? He had given up 
his freedom to protect her and she had all but 
laughed to scorn his feelings of sacredness con- 
cerning the affair. Perhaps she was more to him 
than she had really dreamed of, else why had he 
provided for her future — intrusted his wealth to 
her care in case of his demise. Then she said: 

“Why, oh! why couldn’t I have acted differ- 
ently? Why couldn’t I have shown a more sen- 
sible side of my nature, then perhaps he would not 
be lying here in this state? What have I not to 
answer for?” 

One more effort and the cold, trembling hand 
turned the knob. Beatrice hesitated for a mo- 
ment. Ethel thought she meant to retreat, and 
commanded : 

“Go into that room. You must not turn back 
now.” 

Beatrice pushed the door open and stepped 
into the library. Through the mist that clouded 
her vision, she discerned the form of a man lying 


118 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


on a leather couch which stood between two open 
windows, where the breeze swept through and 
gently swayed the gauzy curtains. 

The trembling and half-frightened girl closed 
the door, pressed her hands across her eyes. For 
a moment she stood thus, then summoning forth 
all the strength she could command, looked at 
the man lying before her. His face was turned 
toward her, and he looked at her intently with eyes 
made sad and large by a very great illness. 

Beatrice’s softened mood vanished in a twink- 
ling, and drawing herself up haughtily, she ex- 
claimed : 

‘‘How could you — how dare you do this?” 

For answer, Kornell closed his eyes wearily 
and turned his face toward the window. This did 
more to bring Beatrice to her senses than any 
words could have done. Silently she went for- 
ward and knelt beside Kornell, and clasping his 
white hand in hers, said, in a low, tremulous voice : 

“F orgive me. I thought you had played a trick 
to bring me here.” 

“What trick?” 

“Why, I supposed you were — ” 

“You supposed I was what?” 

“Oh, don’t you know? What could I think when 
I saw all those flowers. Oh I they are so nauseat- 
ing. How can you bear them?” 

“Are there flowers out there?” 


Varied Emotions 


119 


“Oceans of them. They are in every conceiv- 
able nook and corner. And I thought — how could 
I help but think — ’’ 

A faint smile came to Kornell’s white face as 
he said: 

“And you thought that I was dead.” 

“Yes. How could I think otherwise? And 
when Ethel met me, she was crying.” 

“She was crying for happiness over my re- 
covery. And no doubt those flowers were sent 
by many kind friends for the same reason. But 
why didn’t you ever send one word of inqury? 
Why did you make me send for you?” 

“Could I have done other than I did, consider- 
ing the stand I had taken?” 

“Through false pride, you would let a man die 
for want of a cheering word or a look into your 
face.” 

“But you have recovered and you didn’t really 
need me after all, I see. Now you must not say 
another word, for you are still very weak, and 
you may become feverish.” 

Beatrice loosened her clasp of his hand and 
rose from her knees, taking a step toward the door 
as though to leave. 

Kornell attempted to sit up, and said : 

“Don’t go just yet. Can’t you see that I want 
you here?” 


120 


In a Monro's CxISSock 


‘‘If you will promise to lie quietly and not say 
a word I will sit here beside you for awhile.’^ 

“I promise faithfully to keep quiet. Bring 
your chair close beside me, and talk to me. We 
will not be bothered. Ethel has my strict orders 
to allow no one near that door.” 

Beatrice drew a low, easy chair beside the couch 
and seated herself. Kornell reached out and rest- 
ed his hand on her knee, open palm upward. She 
placed her hand upon his, he closed his fingers 
about it, holding it in a warm clasp, looking 
steadily at her lovely face. 

“Ethel tells me that I talked aU sorts of non- 
sense in my dehrium; made admission that I 
should have preferred to make at the proper time 
and to the proper person.” 

“You promised to keep quiet,” said Beatrice. 

“But if you remember, I didn’t promise not to, 
talk.” 

“Unless you do promise, I shall leave immedi- 
ately.” 

“You are afraid that I will tell you a few things 
I rambled about while out of my head.” 

“I simply want you to keep quiet, for you must 
not have a setback.” 

“Very well. I’ll keep from talking.” 

For nearly an hour Kornell kept to his promise. 
He seemed content to lie quietly and watch her. 
Suddenly he said : 


Varied Emotions 


121 


“Beatrice, do you know that it is nearly five 
months since I saw you last?” 

“There you are talking. That is the signal for 
my depature.” She arose and drew her hand 
from his. 

“I was merely going to say that you hadn’t 
changed a particle.” 

“You insist upon talking, so I know you want 
me to go.” 

She went to the door, but Kornell called her 
back. 

“Don’t go. I didn’t mean that you should go. 
How can I help talking to you?” 

“But you must help it. If your physician were 
to know that you were talking so much he would 
order me out at once.” 

“Not while I had strength to utter a protest. 
Sit down, please. I will try once more to keep 
still. You may talk to me, and I will prove a 
most attentive listener.” 

Beatrice complied with his wish and talked in 
a low musical voice that soothed him. Time passed 
swiftly and the sun was low in the west before 
they realized the lateness of the hour. Beatrice 
rose and said: 

“I really must go now, for the afternoon is 
nearly gone. I hope you will continue to gain 
strength, and will soon become well.” 

“Do you insist upon going now?” 


122 


In a Monk's Cassock 


‘‘I do. I cannot stay a moment longer.” 

“I must not be selfish and keep you against 
your wish. But before you go, Beatrice, I want 
you to make me one promise. Come every day to 
see me, will you?” 

“I can’t make you that promise.” 

“I shall not ask you why you can’t promise, but 
I request you to come. I must have some in- 
centive, something to live for.” 

“You must not talk so foolishly. You have 
everything in this world to live for, mother, sister, 
and wealth. What more do you want?” 

“I am tempted to answer you.” 

“Do not or I shall promise never to come. Good- 
bye.” 

“Are you going to leave me that way? Come 
here, please.” 

She went back to the convalescent and gave him 
her hand. He clasped it in both of his saying : 

“Beatrice, do you realize that I have never 
kissed you, and it has been six long months since 
the right to do so was given me?” 

A wave of sadness and tenderness swept over 
Beatrice; she leaned down and turned a very 
flushed cheek toward him. Kornell looked at it a 
moment, then said: 

“A very lovely cheek, fit only for the gods to 
caress. Any other man on earth would be satis- 


Varied Emotions 


123 


fied with that, but I am not.” He reached up and 
placed a hand on either cheek and drew her face 
down to his and pressed a lingering kiss upon 
her trembling lips. When he released her, he 
looked into her eyes and found them suffused with 
tears. She drew back and said tremulously : 

'‘For one so weak, you are wonderfully strong.” 

" Y es, for once I have conquered. Now promise 
me you will come to see me tomorrow.” 

“I dare not promise you that, but I will come 
if I feel that I can. Goodbye.” 

One last handclasp, then she left him. He 
watched her until the door closed after her. Be- 
fore she could reach the outer door, Ethel came 
toward her with outstretched arms. Beatrice 
waved her aside. 

"Do not come near me, Ethel. I am not worthy 
even of your touch. For, I have found since I 
came into this home this afternoon what a heart- 
less wretch I have been. And until I can humble 
myself before your brother, and make some 
attonement — I cannot allow his sister to feel 
lenient toward me or permit myself to receive a 
caress from her, as much as I should dearly love 
to feel her arms about me. Don’t detain me.” 

"Sit down with me a moment. You must wait 
for the carriage and it will take several minutes 
before it is ready.” 


124 


In a Monro's Cassock 


“Do not order the carriage for me. I shall 
not need it.’’ Without another word, Beatrice 
left the Kornell home. She walked until her 
strength gave way, then she hailed a passing cab 
and was driven home. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE FLIGHT 

npHE next day was bright and beautiful; and 
very early, Howard Kornell began to look 
for Beatrice. The forenoon proved a disappoint- 
ment. The noon hour passed and hope was re- 
vived, for surely she would come during the after- 
noon. But hour after hour passed away, still 
she did not come, and Howard bade fair to be- 
come feverish and irritable. He called Ethel to 
him and bade her go for Beatrice. To humor her 
invalid brother, she went against her will and bet- 
ter judgment. Arriving at the Jewel home, she 
went, as was her custom, straight to the studio, 
but the young artist was not in her accustomed 
place. Ethel went through the house in search of 
Beatrice. She was not without some misgivings. 
Soon she found Cousin Emily who seemed dis- 
heartened. 

“Mrs. Winter, what is the matter? Where is 
Beatrice?’’ 

“I wish I could tell you, Ethel. But I cannot. 
I don’t know where she is. I have worried about 
her until I am nearly distracted.” 

“When did she go? Did she leave no word?” 

125 


126 


In a Monk's Cassock 


“She must have gone very early this morning, 
before any one was awake. She left a note saying 
that I shouldn’t worry about her. That she had 
gone up into the State to a lovely farm home, 
where she could find rest ; she had worked so hard 
this summer that she was nervous and unstrung. 
She ended by saying: ‘Don’t look for me. I am 
with friends and will come home when I am 
rested.’ What shall I do?” 

“Do as she says ; leave her alone. I have hardly 
understood her lately. She has seemed altogether 
different the last six months. What could have 
come over her is more than I can fathom. The 
best way to cure her is to ignore her. If she should 
come back within the next few days, will you let 
me know?” 

“Gladly; but I think she means to be gone sev- 
eral weeks. I shall not know a moment’s rest 
imtil she returns.” 

“I shouldn’t worry. Now, goodbye, dear Mrs. 
Winter. I must hasten back to my brother. 

Ethel Kornell hurried home to her brother and 
informed him regarding Beatrice’s disappearance. 
Howard received the news calmly, but Ethel saw 
that he drew his mouth into a straight line and a 
determined look came into his eyes. She did not 
question him or bother him by talking, but dis- 
creetly left him to himself. From that time on 


The Flight 


127 


Kornell had but one thought, to gain strength and 
health as fast as possible. 

The October sun shone brilliantly on woods 
and fields, making beautiful the autumn land- 
scape. The pungent odor of fallen leaves filled 
the air and the call of the crow rang out sharp 
and clear. 

Beatrice had been three weeks in Farmer 
Joyce’s home, and this rural beauty held great 
charm for her. On this beautiful morning Be- 
atrice and Mrs. Joyce sat late at the breakfast 
table, visiting. Suddenly they were startled by 
Mr. Joyce, who came hurriedly into the room 
exceedingly excited, and, forgetting to remove his 
large slouch hat, said: 

“You women keep to the house this morning. 
Neighbor Crosby’s dog was hurt in some way a 
few days ago and has gone mad, and is now run- 
ning at large. I told Crosby he should have shot 
him at once, but he thought there was no danger. 
We have a party formed to search for him. Re- 
member, don’t leave the house.” Mr. Joyce left 
hurriedly. 

As the forenoon advanced Beatrice forgot Mr. 
Joyce’s warning and started out for a long 
ramble. Lured on by the beauty of the scenery, 
she went farther than she had at first intended 
and it was nearly 11 :30 o’clock when she entered 
the farm-yard. She kept close to the fence, along 


128 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


the top of which was stretched a barbed wire. The 
girl was deep in thought and was not aware of 
approaching danger. Suddenly she was violently 
startled by the snapping and snarling of a fero- 
cious beast, close at her heels. F or an instant she 
was rooted to the spot. Her first impulse was 
to climb over the fence, but before she had time to 
draw a breath, the mad brute sprang upon her. 
Instantly several shots rang out simultaneously 
on the clear autumn air. The dog dropped to the 
ground, but was upon its feet in an instant, and 
with renewed fury again sprang upon Beatrice. 
The force of the dog’s body pushed her against 
the fence, she threw out her arm to catch herself, 
and tore a deep gash across her wrist, on one of 
the barbs. Another shot was fired and the dog 
dropped heavily to the ground for the second 
time. A half dozen excited men gathered about 
the fallen brute. The frightened girl ran to a 
smokehouse, several feet away, entered and closed 
the door. She felt the warm blood flowing freely 
over her hand. The interior of the building was 
too dark to allow her to ascertain the extent of 
her injuries. Although half-fainting with fright, 
she had the presence of mind to stop the flow of 
blood, by pressing the thumb of her left hand 
forcibly on the artery above the wound. 

In the meantime, two strange men had joined 
the group gathered about the dead dog. They 


The Flight 


129 


were coming up the highway in a large red road- 
ster, at the time of the shooting, and witnessed 
the whole affair. After looking at the dog and 
finding him dead, the taller and larger of the two 
men said: 

“Was the woman hurt?” 

Mr. Joyce looked up quickly. 

“I declare, I had forgotten her, I was so ex- 
cited. Was it my wife or the young lady?” 

“It doesn’t make any difference whom she was, 
we must find whether or not she was bitten,” said 
the first spokesman. “I will see about it.” He 
went to the smokehouse and tapped on the door. 
A trembling, frightened voice sounded from 
within. 

“You will have to push open the door. It is 
closed fast and there is no handle on this side.” 

Hurriedly the stranger pushed open the door, 
and to his horror he saw before him the pale 
trembling girl grasping her lacerated wrist, from 
which the blood was dropping and staining the 
whole length of her dress. He was quickly at 
her side and gripping her arm. 

“My God! that brute did bite you.” 

Beatrice looked steadily into his eyes, seeming- 
ly forgetful of her injuries, and asked: 

“Did you know that I was here?” 

“As there is a Heaven above us, I did not,” 
answered Kornell. “But that cursed dog bit you. 


130 


In a Monk's Cassock 


You must not stand here an instant longer/’ He 
tried to draw her from the building but she with- 
drew from his hold upon her, and said: 

“Do not be alarmed. The dog was shot before 
he could fasten his fangs into my flesh. I must 
have torn open the artery in my wrist on that 
barbed wire, as I tried to save myself from falling 
when the dog jumped upon me.” 

“I am very thankful it wasn’t torn open by that 
brute,” said Kornell, as he examined the bleeding 
wrist. That wicked looking wound must be at- 
tended to at once. Felix and I are touring the 
country and my car is out in the road. I will take 
you to town at once.” He took his handkerchief 
from his pocket and bound it tightly about the 
wrist. “We will go to the house and bathe this 
hand, then get your wraps on and come with me, 
for this must be attended to as soon as possible. 
That barb was no doubt very rusty and the wound 
will have to be cauterized.” 

Together they went to the house. Mrs. Joyce 
was very excited over the affair. She hurried 
about and helped Beatrice prepare for her call 
at the doctor’s. In less than ten minutes Beatrice 
and Kornell were in the automobile, whirling 
rapidly down the road. 

When they reached town they soon found a 
physician and the ugly wound was skilfully 
dressed. 


The Flight 


131 


Felix Ransome drove the car at a moderate pace 
back to the farm. 

Mrs. Joyce had made known to her husband 
the fact that Kornell was a friend of Beatrice. 
Mr. Joyce immediately sat watch for their return. 
When he spied them coming, he met them at the 
gate and invited the men to stop for dinner. They 
accepted, and soon were partaking of a bountiful 
repast. 

Two or three times Beatrice looked up at Kor- 
nell, who sat at the opposite side of the table, and 
caught him eagerly watching her. She looked 
away quickly. Fehx Ransom was discreet and 
did not appear to notice that his employer’s eyes 
had the power to bring the rosy flushes to 
Beatrice’s cheeks, and Mr. and Mrs. Joyce at- 
tributed it to the excitement of the last hour. 

Kornell stayed as long after dinner as polite- 
ness would allow. Before he made his adieus he 
said: 

‘T am junketing about, trying to regain some 
of my lost vigor. What is your opinion as to my 
state of health at the present moment?” He looked 
at Beatrice and laughed good-humoredly. 

“You are looking splendid,” she answered. “I 
had no idea that one could regain his health so 
rapidly. Touring this beautiful country certainly 
agrees with you.” 

“Yes; I think it does. I have made plans to 


132 


In a Monk's Cassock 


stay here for some time. That is, stop at the hotel 
in town and take long drives into the country. 
I find that the best way for me at present. I 
cannot stand going from town to town, as I had 
at first intended doing. How long are you to stay 
here?’’ 

Beatrice hesitated for a moment, then an- 
swered : 

‘T can hardly tell at present. I never know one 
day what I will do the next.” 

“But you will stay for some time. You cannot 
possibly think of going home in your present con- 
dition.” He arose and extended his hand to 
Beatrice. “I see that Felix seems a little im- 
patient. He has been sitting in the car for the last 
ten minutes waiting. I will run out tomorrow 
morning to see how you are getting along.” 

With just a hand-clasp and no word of farewell 
he turned and left her standing on the sunny porch 
where they had been visiting for the last hour or 
more. 

Beatrice was piqued. Perhaps he meant her 
to be. She missed his usual grave courtesy at 
leave-taking. And he had not once during their 
conversation alluded to her visit to his home that 
Sabbath afternoon, and a hot wave rushed to her 
face when she remembered that she had allowed 
him to kiss her. She knew that he spoke truth- 
fully when he told her that he did not know that 


The Flight 


133 


she was there. His happening along at that time 
was simply a coincidence. But he did seem very 
much affected when he thought she was bitten by 
that mad dog. Still, he may have felt just the 
same had it been Mrs. Joyce or any other woman. 
Fix it any way she would she felt there was some- 
thing lacking in his manner today. The rest of the 
afternoon she was preoccupied, and paid very lit- 
tle attention to what was going on around her. 


CHAPTER XII 


A HASTY DECISION 


TJOWARD KORNELL was detained from 
going out to see Beatrice the next forenoon. 
An accident to his automobile caused a delay of 
several hours, and it was not until late in the 
afternoon that he made his promised call. 

Mrs. Joyce met him at the door and invited 
him in. 

‘T suppose you came to inquire about Miss 
Jewell?’’ she asked. 

‘T did,” answered Kornell. ‘T believe she ex- 
pected me.” 

“Yes, she said that you intended to call today.” 

“May I see her, please, or is she too ill to re- 
ceive callers?” 

“She is not at all sick. At least, she didn’t 
appear so, only that she was very pale.” 

“But may I see her?” Kornell was becoming 
impatient with the woman. 

“Well— I don’t know— I—.” 

“What is the matter? Tell me quick, Mrs. 
Joyce.” 

“I hardly know how to tell you, Mr. Kornell, 
but—.” 

Mrs. J oyce continued to stumble over her task. 

134 


A Hasty Decision 


135 


Kornell rose and started toward the door, saying; 

“Perhaps Mr. Joyce can enlighten me on the 
subject.” 

“Wait, Mr. Kornell. Miss Jewell didn’t want 
me to tell you, but I shall just the same. She has 
gone home. Went early this morning.” 

Kornell looked at Mrs. Joyce in amazement. 

“She has gone home, you say?” A dark scowl 
came between his eyes. “How dared she go in 
the condition she was in?” 

“I don’t know, Mr. Kornell, but after you left 
yesterday she seemed worried and depressed. At 
supper time she informed me that she had made 
up her mind to go home. This morning Mr. J oyce 
took her to the early train. I did her packing 
for her and helped all that I could. She said that 
she would need a great deal of waiting on and 
that the best place for her was at home. There, 
too, she could have her own physician to attend 
her.” 

“Nevertheless, she should not have gone.” Kor- 
nell seemed greatly disappointed and did not at- 
tempt to conceal the fact. He bade Mrs. Joyce 
adieu, hurried out to his car and rode rapidly back 
to town. 

That night he sent his private secretary to New 
York city on an important business matter, while 
he stayed in the country town and toured about as 
suited his fancy. 


136 


In a Monk's Cassock 


Beatrice arrived home late that evening and for 
a day or two thereafter was in a very unsettled 
state of mind. She found that being in her own 
home was not all that she thought it would be. 
There was still a longing which she could not ap- 
pease. There came to her a vision of the little 
nook of a home, nestling among the roses on a 
hillside in sunny Italy. Instantly her mind was 
settled upon a plan. The next day she went to 
the steamship office and procured passage to 
Europe. On her way uptown she stopped into a 
store to procure a few needful articles for her 
trip, and very unexpectedly met Ethel Kornell. 

“Beatrice, how you surprised me. When did 
you return to town?” asked Ethel. 

“I came home Tuesday, but not to stay. I 
am going to Europe.” 

“Isn’t this rather sudden, Beatrice?” 

“To tell you the truth, I didn’t make up my 
mind to go until last night.” 

“When do you start?” 

“Next Tuesday, and as this is Saturday, you 
see I shall have to hurry. Come with me while 
I do some shopping. I may want your opinion 
on some things.” 

For a couple of hours they went from place 
to place. Then Ethel left Beatrice to return home 
and the latter went on a business errand. When 
she was about to leave the office building, Felix 


A Hasty Decision 


187 


Ransome entered. He inquired concerning her 
wounded arm and thought she was looking very 
well, considering her injuries. Some hidden im- 
pulse caused Beatrice to take a small white card 
from her purse and write this message : 

leave on the Steamer C for Europe Tues- 
day. Beatrice."' 

She handed the card to Felix and said : 

“Please hand this to Mr. Kornell.” 

The secretary took the card and slipped it into 
an inner pocket of his coat, tipped his hat to her 
and hurried toward the elevator. 

Beatrice hastened out of the building. Her 
cheeks began to burn and she had a great desire 
to get away from the feeling of loathing she en- 
tertained for self for displaying that one little act 
of weakness. But for the looks of it, she would 
find Felix Ransome and demand the return of the 
card. But her pride kept her from doing so, and 
she went home with all speed possible. Upon ar- 
riving there she went straight to her own room, 
to avoid meeting Mrs. Winter or any of the ser- 
vants, for she was afraid of what they might read 
on her face. She removed her hat, walked over 
to the dressing table and looked long and fixedly 
at her reflection in the mirror, finally saying : 

“Beatrice, you little fool, have you fallen in 
love with that great big man? Not for worlds 


188 


In a Monk^’s Cassock 


would I have him surmise such a thing, and all un- 
solicited by him, too. Oh I if I could only get my 
fingers on that cardJ^ What a little idiot I was? 
What could have possessed me? I merit all con- 
tempt he will feel for me. I never thought I 
would become such a goose!” 

She turned away from the mirror and left her 
room, seeking Mrs. Winter. She opened the door 
of the sewing room and found the object of her 
search busily at work. 

“Cousin Emily, I have something very impor- 
tant to tell you.” 

“I thought so, my dear.” Mrs. Winter looked 
into the girl’s fiushed face. “I have felt for weeks 
that you had something on your mind which you 
would eventually confide to me. Now, tell me all 
about it, dear. I am very anxious to hear all that 
you have to say. You see, I surmise right away 
what it is.” 

“Well, we will see if you are correct. Now 
then, Cousin Emily, we are going to Europe.” 
Beatrice looked steadily at Mrs. Winter. 

“Who is going to Europe, my dear?” 

“You and I, Cousin Emily.” 

Mrs. Winter rose quickly, letting her scissors 
fall clattering to the floor and the garment on 
which she had been sewing slid to her feet in a 
snowy heap. 

“You — and I?” she asked incredulously. 


A Hasty Decision 


139 


‘‘Yes, Cousin Emily.” 

“No, ma’am! I flatly refuse.” 

“But I must go. My state of health demands 
it. I can’t go alone, so you have to go.” 

“But you promised me faithfully the last time 
we made that trip that you would never take me 
galavanting over Europe again.” 

“I remember that I made some such promise. 
But how was I to know that I would have to go 
away to regain my health, for my arm—.” 

“Health, fiddlesticks! You are a goose.” 

“I know I am. I have been calling myself all 
sorts of names the whole afternoon, but that 
doesn’t heal the wound in my wrist or ease my 
ruffled feelings.” 

“You are determined that we shall go?” 

“I am. Our passage over is already engaged.” 

“When are we to start?” 

“Next Tuesday.” 

“Tuesday!” groaned Mrs. Winter. “How do 
you expect me to get ready in two days ? What 
have you been thinking about?” 

“I can’t tell you of all I have been thinking 
about? Don’t worry about getting ready. I have 
prepared for our needs. All that we will have to 
do is our packing. We had best start in at once.” 
Beatrice left for her room and when Mrs. Winter 
overcame this new shock, she followed Beatrice 
and together they prepared for their trip. 


CHAPTER XIII 

TO SUNNY ITALY 

T ATE Monday afternoon Howard Kornell 
received a letter from Ethel in which she 
stated that on Saturday she had very unexpect- 
edly met Beatrice. “And, Howard,” she wrote, 
“I hardly understand Beatrice lately. She is as 
sweet and lovely as ever, but she acts restrained 
in my presence, as though she feared me. What 
should cause it? Does she care for you and is 
afraid to have me know it, or have you told her 
what you confided to me and she resents it? She 
told me the Sunday she came to see you that she 
was going to do penance. I believe she fully in- 
tends to do so. But why should she isolate her- 
self? How I shall miss her through the coming 
winter. She sails for Europe Tuesday — .” 

Kornell read no farther. He rose and paced 
the floor excitedly. “For Europe — Tuesday,” 
he repeated. Those three words stood out clear 
and black above the rest of the letter. “And there 
isn’t another train out of here until four in the 
morning. An unearthly hour? That’s what a 
fellow gets for putting up at such an out-of-the- 
way place. I’ll reach New York City too late 
that’s a certainty. But I shall follow on the next 
140 


To Sunny Italy 


141 


boat out. This shyness and everlasting running 
away must and shall be stopped. I have no one 
to blame for this but myself, for I find that I 
have waited longer than I should have.” He 
finished reading the letter, but it held little in- 
terest for him. He hurriedly attended to his 
packing, and looked after the shipment of his 
automobile. After everything was in readiness 
there were any amount of hours to dispose of. 
Kornell walked up and down the streets until 
a late hour then he returned to the hotel and re- 
tired for a little rest. Long before four o’clock 
he was up and ready for the journey. It was with 
great relief that he heard the train steam into the 
station. 

Long and tiresome was the trip to New York. 
Upon arriving in the city Howard Kornell went 
immediately to his office. He knew that he would 
find his secretary there at that hour, and he needed 
him at once. 

Kornell had sent no message apprising Ran- 
some of his arrival, therefore that gentleman was 
greatly startled when, upon looking up at the 
sound of the opening of the inner office door, he 
beheld Kornell. He rose quickly to meet his 
employer. 

'‘What is the matter, Mr. Kornell?” 

“We must sail for Europe on the first out-going 
steamer to overtake a party who sailed on the 


142 


In a Monk's Cassock 


C at 10 o’clock this forenoon.” Kornell sat 

down before his office desk. “Drop everything 
and look up the boats and find out when we can 
get out of here.” 

Ransome left the office and in half an hour re- 
turned and informed Kornell that by going to 
Boston they could get a boat out the next fore- 
noon. 

“Very well. Telegraph ahead and secure 
passage for us. Then get everything in order 
here. I shall have to call up J ohnson. There are 
several matters I want him to attend to during 
my absence. I will run out home for an hour or 
so. Be sure to meet me at 6:30 at the union 
depot.” 

The next noon found Howard Kornell and his 
secretary on board ship, merging onto the broad 
bosom of the Atlantic in fast pursuit of Beatrice, 
who had twenty-four hours the start of them. 

The days aboard ship seemed interminably 
long. Kornell was restless and very uncompan- 
ionable. His secretary proved as poor a com- 
panion, silent and inclined to be moody. Several 
times Kornell caught him in deep study. Finally 
he asked: 

“What is the matter, Felix? You seem to be 
worried.” 

“I am worried. There is something that I 
have forgotten to do. What it is, I cannot say. 


To Sunny Italy 


143 


It has bothered me ever since we came aboard 
ship.” 

“You attended to everything at the office? Put 
those papers in the safe?” 

“Yes; everything there is alright. That which 
bothers me is apart from business. I have racked 
my brain until my head aches trying to remember 
what I should have done. I never before had any- 
thing slip my memory so entirely.” 

“Don’t bother your head any more about it. 
You will think of it when you least expect, prob- 
ably. Such is often the case.” 

Two more days of ocean travel then they 
reached Liverpool. No delays were made. They 
hastened on toward Italy. Kornell felt quite 
sure that Beatrice would go straight to the little 
place on the hillside among the roses that she had 
told him about, so he hastened thither. 

Travel-stained and weary, they reached the 

little city of S , just over the border line into 

Italy. They were taken to the hotel, where they 
intended to remain until the next day. Quite 
early in the evening Kornell went to his room, not 
merely to rest but to be along with his thoughts. 
Felix had told him that he intended to stroll for 
a time in the beautiful gardens surrounding the 
hotel. 

It was long past nine o’clock when Howard 
Kornell was aroused from his reveries by the 


144 


In a Monk's Cassock 


hurried advent of Felix into his room. The sec- 
retary was very excited, and throwing his hat onto 
a nearby chair, began to search his pockets. Final- 
ly withdrawing a small white card from among 
a few others which had reposed in his pocket all 
those days, he handed it to Kornell, saying: 

“You remember that I told you that I had for- 
gotten something? Well, this is the cause of all 
my worry.” 

Howard Kornell took the card from Ransome’s. 
hand. He read the name, “Beatrice J ewell,” then 
turning the card over read the short message she 
had written him. He looked up quickly at his 
secretary. 

“How could you have forgotten to hand me this 
message?” 

“I remember now, that it was given to me on 
Saturday, to hand to you when I saw you. Your 
coming so unexpectedly into the office the follow- 
ing Tuesday and your hurried orders to get off 
here to Europe knocked the whole thing from my 
mind. I’m sorry, Mr. Kornell, but I don’t see 
how I can help it now.” 

“Why, man, do you know what this means to 
me?” Kornell looked at the neatly written mes- 
sage again.” How did you happen to think of it ?” 

“I met her but a moment ago while walking in 
the gardens.” 

“Met her! Are you sure?” Kornell grew ex- 


To Sunny Italy 


145 


cited. “Where did you meet her? Tell me the 
exact spot. Did she see you?” 

“I hardly think so. I turned away quickly for 
I thought that perhaps I was mistaken. But 
I looked after her, and I am convinced that it was 
Miss Jewell.” 

“Wait here for me.” Kornell took his hat and 
quickly left the room. Ransome, left alone, fell 
to speculating upon his employer’s past and pres- 
ent conduct. He put two and two together and 
conjectured that Kornell had at last lost his heart. 
He knew now who was the person they were to 
overtake. He waited patiently for Kornell, who 
was scouring the hotel gardens for Beatrice. His 
search was fruitless. Whether Ransome was mis- 
taken, or Beatrice had seen and recognized him 
and had hurried to her room to avoid meeting Kor- 
nell, for she would know that the secretary would 
inform his employer of her presence there. Kor- 
nell reasoned that she no doubt felt hurt at his 
non-appearance at the dock the day she left. 
That he had ignored her message, and she meant 
to keep from his sight in consequence. He knew 
exactly how she felt. If he could only find her 
and get a moment’s chance to explain, to tell her 
that he had but that hour received her message, 
that he had come all this distance to find, and to 
tell her that which he should have told her in the 

beginning. To make sure that his secretary was 

10 


146 


In a Monk's Cassock 


not mistaken, he went into the office and asked 
to see the registry. He found on the page pre- 
ceeding that on which his own name was registered 
those of Mrs. Emily Winter and Beatrice J ewell, 
and that they had arrived the day before. It 
was now ten o’clock and Kornell felt that it was 
too late to present himself to Beatrice. He de- 
cided to wait until morning, then insist upon a 
thorough understanding. 

He went back to Ransome and told him that 
Beatrice was really there, but that he would not 
attempt to see her until the next day. Then 
they separated for the night. 

The next morning Kornell stationed himself 
where he could watch each guest as they went to 
the dining room. But Beatrice did not make her 
appearance. He waited long past the breakfast 
hour; still she did not come. He became appre- 
hensive, and sought the clerk in his office. 

‘'Will you find out whether or not Miss Jewel 
is in her room?” 

“Miss J ewell and her companion left very early 
this morning.” 

“Gone, have they? Missed them again I” Kor- 
nell was a little inclined to be angry, still he knew 
that he could not blame Beatrice, considering the 
circumstances. He found that he could not get 
away from there until that afternoon. 

Late the next day Howard Kornell and Felix 


To Sunny Italy 


147 


Ransome arrived in C . Kornell started out 

alone, after the evening meal and found the way 
to the little villa on the hillside. He learned that 
two strange ladies had that forenoon taken pos- 
session of the pretty little building which had been 
closed for many months. He knew that Beatrice 
meant to hide from him in this beautiful spot. He 
understood her thoroughly, and felt that she 
would undergo almost any torture rather than to 
meet him face to face, for she had humbled her- 
self and made a veiled admission and had he 
chosen, he would have known that she cared more 
than she was willing to admit openly. But a 
grave mistake had been made and she was suf- 
fering. But he decided not to present himself 
that evening for he felt that she was weary with 
long travel and should have this time to herself. 

He remained at some distance from the villa 
lest he be seen. Not for worlds, would he have 
her know that he was so near. He watched the 
full moon rise into the deep blue vault above. Its 
silvery rays caressed the hillsides, and flooded the 
valley, lighting up the beautiful lake nestling at 
the foot of the hills. The rare perfume of roses 
filled the night air, and the liquid notes from a 
violin, played by a master hand, floated out to 
the man whose mind was filled with reveries made 
inexpressibly dear by the witchery of the beauti- 
ful night. 


148 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


Filled with a tender and reverenced mood, 
Howard Kornell turned away from this beauty 
and grandeur, and went back to the hotel, feeling 
that he had left Beatrice in a world apart from 
the one in which he now walked — a world made 
for such as she. Always would he hold the mem- 
ory of this night sacred. 


CHAPTER XIV 


OLD ROSE LACE 

the light of the new day Howard 
^ ” Kornell was up and ready for the conquest 
that awaited him. The hours of the morning 
dragged along slowly. At ten o’clock he started 
for the villa on the hillside. He set out slowly, 
but his steps became rapid as he went along, and 
before he fully realized it he was in sight of 
Beatrice’s hiding place. His eager eyes caught 
sight of the woman for whom he had traveled so 
great a distance to overtake. 

Beatrice was busy among the roses, and was 
utterly unaware of his near approach. Suddenly 
a peculiar little whistle rang out on the clear 
morning air. Beatrice dropped the roses she had 
gathered and looked about startled. An instant 
later, Howard Kornell stood before her with his 
head bared to the morning sun and his arms ex- 
tended toward her. 

“Beatrice.” A deep feeling sounded in his 
voice. 

The astonished and frightened girl stepped 
backward and said falteringly: 

“Don’t you know that I have been running 
away from you?” 


149 


150 


In a Monro's Cassock 


“I am well convinced of the fact.” He had 
dropped his arms to his side and took a step 
nearer. 

“Why, then, did you follow me?” 

“If a man’s wife takes it into her head to run 
away, that man has a right to follow her and 
bring her back. And now,” he said, leading her 
to a rustic bench overlooking the sloping terrace 
and the valley beyond, “we will sit down here 
and have a thorough understanding. N ow, then,” 
he continued, after they were seated, “what 
prompted you to run away?” 

“To get away from myself and everything in 
general.” 

“And Howard Kornell most particularly. 
Come, own up.” 

“Perhaps,” said Beatrice, timidly. 

“Still, you sent him a message apprising him 
of the fact that you were going away from him.” 

“Oh! don’t. Please, do not mention that.” 
Beatrice turned away a very flushed face. 

“I will mention it, dear, for you must know 
that I never received that message until two nights 
ago, and you must accuse me no longer of heart- 
lessness. Evidently you thought that I was back 
in the city the day you met Ransome and that I 
would receive your message in time. But as it 
happened, I stayed in the little town, and Ran- 
some was not to return until the latter part of the 


Old Rose Lace 


151 


next week. Ethel wrote me of your intended de- 
parture, and when I arrived in the city you had 
already gone. My sudden and unexpected ap- 
pearance in my office that day, and my hurried 
orders to get off for Europe, drove every thought 
of your message from Felix’s mind until he met 
you in the gardens two nights ago. ‘‘He waited 
a moment, then, with his free hand he turned her 
face toward him. “Why don’t you say some- 
thing?” he asked. 

“How can I? You are holding the floor.” 

“I am holding your hand,” he answered, with 
mocked solemnity. 

She turned away with a little shrug of disdain. 

“You always spoil everything by being funny.” 

“Do I, dear ? Then, from this instant on I shall 
be the most serious fellow you ever knew. 
Beatrice, sweetheart, listen to me, for what I am 
about to say to you I shall say with all truth and 
sincerity.” There was an impressive moment, 
then he continued with a deep full note ringing 
in his voice. 

“I love you.” 

Beatrice rose quickly, attempting to draw away 
her hand. But Kornell did not release his hold 
upon it. 

“Now, this won’t do at all. If you remember 
correctly, I told you a few moments ago that we 
would not leave this spot until we had had a 


152 


In a Monk^s Cassock 


thorough understanding.” He drew her back to 
the seat beside him. “You must listen to me, for 
I am determined that you shall know all. I have 
loved you for years. I realized when it was too 
late that I should have told you so in the begin- 
ning. But I feared you at that time. As I said 
way back there, at the ‘Retreat,’ that I dared not 
offer you my love lest you laugh it to scorn. I did 
not think that you recognized me; therefore, I 
could not tell you that your miniature, which 
Ethel had misplaced, had reposed in a safekeep- 
ing about my person all these years.” Beatrice 
looked quickly into his face. “Then, too,” he 
continued, “I thought it wiser not to tell you of 
my love lest you would feel that I was taking 
undue advantage of your situation to further 
selfish designs. I knew that your affections were 
still unstirred. I decided then and there to wait 
for some sign from you that you cared ever so 
little for me, before I declared my love for you. 
And that unwise decision caused this long chase 
to the land of sunshine and roses.” He placed his 
arm about her shoulders, saying slowly and im- 
pressively, “and you do love me.” 

Beatrice withdrew from his encircling arm and 
rose quickly, going a few steps away. Trying to 
keep a very firm voice, she said : 

“You take a great deal for granted.” 

Kornell was at her side in an instant. 


Old Rose Lace 


153 


‘‘But this proves it,” he said, holding before 
her the small white card on which was written her 
message. 

Beatrice glanced at it, then hid her face in her 
trembling hands. 

“Haven’t you a bit of mercy?” came in muffled 
tones. 

“You haven’t shown me a particle of mercy 
all these past months, and now I ask that you 
mend matters by answering my question truth- 
fully.” 

Gently he drew her hands from her face with 
one of his own, the other he placed under her 
chin and forced her to look up at him. “Beatrice, 
you do love me ?” A tender, pleading note sound- 
ed in the voice of this tall, broad-shouldered man, 
which rang on a responsive chord in her own 
breast and caused her to raise her deep blue eyes 
dimmed with tears, to meet his, and said unaf- 
fectively and almost sadly: 

“Yes, Howard.” 

He put his strong arms about her, drawing her 
to him in a close embrace, then kissed her lips 
and forehead reverently. 

“Our betrothal kiss, sweetheart. For I believe 
you still hold to your views on civil and religious 
ceremonies.” 

“I haven’t changed my views in the least.” 

“Then there must be a second ceremony?” 


154 In a Monk's Cassock 

‘‘Yes, for to me the first one does not seem 
holy.’’ 

“When shall it take place, dear?” He pressed 
her head close to his breast and tenderly smoothed 
her fair cheek. 

“Not tomorrow, for it will be Friday. And 
the next day will be Saturday; of course that 
won’t do. And Simday — I should not care for 
that day, for to me a wedding day should be 
sacred, apart from all others. Monday, of course, 
is entirely out of the question, and — ” 

She did not finish, for Kornell quickly held 
her from him, and looked at her keenly, saying: 

“Now, look here. If for one moment you think 
you are going to put off this event until next 
Wednesday, you are mightily mistaken, lady dear. 
I am determined that there shall be no more 
foolishness in this affair. I see that you are not 
capable of setting the day, so I will do so. There 
is a small Protestant chapel down in the southeast 
end of the city. Together with Mrs. Winter and 
Ransome, we will go there and have the ceremony 
performed, this very afternoon. To my way of 
thinking, Thursday is as good a day as Wednes- 
day.” 

“But it’s so soon.” 

“You have had since last March to think about 
it.” 


Old Rose Lace 


155 


“I know all about that. But one wants a little 
time in which to get ready.” 

“You will do just as you are. But I know that 
you have something that will be appropriate. 
What a pity you didn’t bring along that beautiful 
gown of lace and satin, that you once dreamed of 
wearing on this occasion. 

“I did bring it, Howard.” 

“What more beautiful array could you wish 
for? And now, you will let me go and arrange for 
the ceremony to take place this afternoon? I will 
come for you at two o’clock.” 

“I would far rather you wouldn’t come for me. 
Cousin Emily and I will meet you and Mr. Ran- 
some at the chapel at the hour you name.” 

“But I can’t trust you. Remember your pro- 
pensity for running away.” 

“I won’t fail you this time. Please trust me.” 

“If that is your wish, I shall abide by it.” 

“Let us go and tell Cousin Emily, for I know 
she will be very happy over this.” 

Together they went into the house' and confided 
to Mrs. Winter the event that they had planned 
for the afternoon. Then Howard took his de- 
parture to make arrangements for the second 
ceremony, which would make the bond doubly 
secure. He also sent a cablegram to his mother 
with this announcement : 

‘^Married to Beatrice this afternoon. 


Howard.- 


156 


In a Moneys Cassock 


At two o’clock a carriage sent by Kornell ar- 
rived at the villa to convey Beatrice and Mrs. 
Winter to the chapel. When they reached the 
small edifice, Kornell and Ronsome, met them and 
escorted them into the building. This time 
Beatrice did not falter as she walked with Kornell 
to the chancel rail. Neither did she hesitate be- 
cause of the quality of her gown. Kornell was 
justly proud of the beautiful woman at his side, 
arrayed in old rose lace and ivory satin. She 
carried a large bouquet of deep cream roses, but 
wore neither hat or veil. 

After the ceremony they all returned to the 
villa, where an impromptu wedding luncheon was 
served. 

Beatrice had decided that they would stay here 
for two or three weeks, then return to America 
in time for Christmas. 

Mrs. Winter laid forth her plans. She would 
go to the hotel and stay those few weeks. ‘Tor 
this place is only large enough for two at the 
present time.” 

They tried to persuade her to remain with them, 
but she was firm in her resolve to leave them to 
themselves. 

‘T was young once myself, my dears. I know 
that young folks want to be alone.” 

Felix Ransome, accompanied Mrs. Winter to 
the hotel. Howard and Beatrice watched them 


Old Rose Lace 


157 


until they were lost in the dimness beyond. Then 
Kornell turned to his wife, whose face and form 
were lighted up by the silvery moon. The night 
air was scented with the breath of roses and from 
somewhere came faint, sweet music. The same 
world that he had had a glimpse of the evening 
before, but tonight he was not shut out. A great 
wave of happiness passed over him as he tenderly 
placed his arms about Beatrice and drew her to 
him. For the first time he felt her soft, plump 
arm steal about his neck. 

‘T have you safe now, sweetheart. No more 
running away.” 

With her lovely face raised to his, she answered : 
‘T have no desire to run away. I am content.” 





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